


what's in a fortune (if the telling is free)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fortune Telling, Multi, Mutant Powers, Polyamory, Soul Bond, Soul Sharing, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy has always been able to see the future, a gift passed down on her mother's side of the family, but knowing her own fate was not something she wanted. When Steve Rogers comes into her life hoping she can point him toward Bucky, her future is quick to ignore her preference and smacks her in the face with not one, but two soul mates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ready or not

**Author's Note:**

> **inspiration** : [picture](http://oi58.tinypic.com/2ahvbqw.jpg) ([source](http://wylona-hayashi.tumblr.com/post/84026592907))  
>  **polyvore** : [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/darcy_oneshot_7a/set?id=130023477)] [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/darcy_oneshot_7b/set?id=130032260)] [[3](http://www.polyvore.com/darcy_oneshot_7c/set?id=130035900)] [[4](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=130039412)]

All things considered, Darcy was happy with her life. She made a pretty good living, the nightmares had decreased significantly since childhood, and she'd come to accept that hers was a life that would be spent connected with all things supernatural. She wasn't wiccan; don't get her confused. Calling her a witch wouldn't offend her, however. She happily accepted anybody with a tie to the supernatural. Hers was one of those family things; passed down, generation after generation. Or, well, sometimes it skipped people, like her mother.

Darcy could see things, the future, more often than not, good or bad. Growing up, it had been difficult, out of control, something that happened without her consent, coming on at the most inconvenient of times. And it was… well, kind of terrifying. Not everything she saw was good.

Jennifer Gallant; she saw her die in a fiery car crash three days before it happened. She could smell the gasoline, the smoke, feel fire licking at her skin, blood dribbling down her face, bits of glass imbedded in her. She saw it all, felt it as if she were there with her, experiencing it first hand. She woke up screaming herself hoarse, shocked and scared. Her mother soothed her, telling her it was just a nightmare. She was fifteen and felt like an idiot for getting so upset. And then, three days later, there it was on the news, Jennifer Gallant, dead.

For the longest time, her powers scared her. What if she dreamed about her mother dying, or her friends, or anybody she loved? What if she dreamed about herself, about something out of her control? Darcy hated it as a teenager; she suffered from insomnia for the longest time, too stressed to sleep lest she something she didn't want to. But it only bled into her daily life, too. She no longer needed to sleep to see what would happen to other people, how their lives would change thanks to one simple decision.

She saw a crossroads for some people. A girl; pick one boy, get pregnant young, never leave their hometown, pick another boy, go to college, marry someone else, have a career, then children. A boy; come out as gay, get picked on all of high school, give up senior year, commit suicide, or stay quiet, struggle and feel like a fraud, wait for college, tell their family, their friends, find acceptance, grow, meet the right guy, live a long life. It was different for each person. Some met the wrong people, did the wrong things, made the wrong choices, while others went a different path, one that would lead them to happiness. Some came out in high school and had a great support system. Some got pregnant young and never regretted it. Some never had sex, never did drugs, others had lots of sex and did every drug, and each experience led them down a new path, neither better nor worse. The roads weren't all paved with good things or bad things, it was a mixture of both, and some were happier in the moment while regretful down the line.

For Darcy, it was always a matter of control. Controlling her power, her life, making her own decisions, never letting her path be chosen for her. She could watch other people's lives play out, designed by one fateful decision or a number of them, but she never wanted to know where hers might go.

As she grew up, she learned how to control her powers, to invite those feelings, blocking out all else and putting her entire focus on the person in front of her. At twenty-five, she had an impressive career going for her. She started out with a table set up in the street, calling people closer; it grew into a tent at big street events, and now she had her shop. She couldn't afford a separate apartment on top of it, so she combined the two. Her bedroom and kitchen were her only living space while the main room was her office, dressed in gauzy fabrics, lit with candles, beads hanging over the doors, various stones with symbols carved into them littered counter tops. The table in the middle wore a white lace cloth with a stack of tarot cards that were more for show than anything else. Sometimes, for the people who liked a lot more of a show, she got out the crystal ball, but the real work was all in the hands. Palm readings brought in a lot of people, but there was always a question, a specific query, that really had people knocking at her door.

Did their loved one make it to heaven?

Would they ever get married?

Could they make their dream job happen or was it better to stick to the daily grind?

Was the ghost of their long-dead relative still lingering around?

Were they ever going to hit the lottery?

She wondered sometimes, if it was better to lie to some of them. Would their lives be better if she told them no? That they would always be unhappy, unmarried, in a job they hated? Because that was the reality of so many. Not everybody won the lottery or met their soul mate or did something with their lives. But some… Some came in and they asked the right question. Not 'will I' but 'how do I' and her ability, her power, she always hesitated to call it something so specific, but sometimes it guided her toward the right answer. 'Go to the coffee shop on Fifth at 11:14 am, get your favorite drink and sit at the table in the back, right corner… He'll come to you.' Or 'Skip the next audition, go to the other one, the one your agent told you isn't right for you… Hello starring role.'

She couldn't tell them what to ask, and she wondered sometimes if that was important. If the people destined to make it in the world just knew that in order to get what they wanted, they had to ask the right questions, do the right things, know what they wanted and how to achieve it. While others weren't as motivated; maybe they hoped it would all change on its own and they wouldn't have to put work into it, or maybe some just weren't destined for good things. She didn't like it, but that was how it was. She couldn't control their destiny; she could only see where it led.

It was a Thursday when the bell above the door jingled for her attention. She'd woken feeling nauseas, a sign of something to come. She added a little extra cream to her coffee because it always seemed to settle her nerves. The incense stayed unlit; it gave her a headache if she let it burn all day. She only lit it for the people she could tell wanted the whole show. The main room was too dark for her most days; so she went out back to the small balcony, dressed with various plants, green arms reaching in all directions, climbing red brick walls and twining around wrought iron bars. The smell of dewy flowers helped to relax her, and the cat from next door, twining around her feet, was a welcomed guest.

She had a slow morning; a few regulars that always asked questions with the same answers. No, you won't win the lottery today. No, your son won't call. Yes, you should get fresh fish from the market. Yes, you should keep taking your medicine. Older men and women, always; the same craggy faces that wanted something to change but feared change all the same.

It was almost four when she felt a chill in her bones; a promise of something she wasn't sure she was prepared for. It wasn't bad, necessarily. Was anything ever wholly bad? Balance; that was what it was all about. Good and bad, fluctuating, happiness and sadness, death and life.

She left her balcony and stepped inside, through her bedroom and the kitchen to the doorway leading to her main room, listening for the sound of footsteps before she stepped through the beads to see who'd arrived. He was tall with a tapered waist, stubborn chin and the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

"You look lost, soldier."

He turned abruptly, from where he'd been admiring a painting on the wall. It was of a young boy, his hand cupped, holding the bloody dog tags of a fallen and lost father. There was mud on his cherubic cheeks and an ache in his sorrowful green eyes. It was one of her favorites. She changed out the paintings each day, depending on her mood. They always seemed to fit with whoever was coming to see her that day.

"Are you here to guide me then?" he asked, his voice more than a little sardonic.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Did you need guidance?"

"Don't those who're lost always need direction?" he wondered, a brow raised as he let his fingers drag over a few colorful stones.

"No," she said simply.

He looked up, peering at her, his kind blue-green eyes taking her in from top to bottom.

Her mouth turned up at the corner. "I'm not what you were expecting."

"More scarves," he admitted. "Same amount of jewelry."

She grinned, raising a hand to admire her many rings and her long nails, painted purple today, to match her dress. "Not gonna lie, part of it's for costume's sake, and part of it's just because I can never choose between them."

"Costume… Should you be telling me you're a fake? Kind of bad for business, isn't it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You wear a costume; does that make what you do any less real?"

He frowned, looking back at her. "How'd you…?"

Darcy walked further into the room, stopping behind her table, hands around the back of her chair. "I see the future, remember?"

"That easy, huh? Just take one look and you know my whole life story?"

"No." She pulled her chair out and took a seat, turning in it to face him better, crossing one leg over her knee. "Some people are easier to read than others. But if I told you all my secrets, I'd lose my appeal."

He let out a small laugh and nodded. Tapping his fingers atop the cabinet, he took another look around.

"Did you have a question or are you still trying to convince yourself this isn't the craziest thing you've done?"

"I've done crazier," he mused simply. "I guess I just… never thought it'd lead me here."

"Sometimes when we run out of options, the only thing left is this." She crossed her arms loosely over her waist. "You're looking for someone… Someone who matters a great deal to you."

"Does anybody ever look for someone who doesn't matter to them?"

"Sure. I looked for my aunt's cat for a whole week even though I hated that mangy asshole… But my aunt loved him, so I did it for her." She tipped her head, staring up at his profile. "But you're not looking for him for someone else… Just for you."

He swallowed tightly, one of his hands balled up in a fist. "This was a mistake… Coming here. Expecting you to—"

"You love him," she interrupted, feelings and images flooding her head like they hadn't since high school. "You miss him… You have for… a very long time. Longer than your physical age might agree with."

"Did Stark put you up to this?" he wondered, whirling toward her, angry now. "Did he tell you these things? Feed you information?"

Darcy stared at him a long moment, her eyes dazed. It was rare for her powers to work like this anymore, for them to feed off someone's energy without her touching them. She'd fixed that, hadn't she? But oh, the grief, the worry, was so potent, coming off of him in thick waves, wrapping around her, sinking into her skin, so solid it was as good as any skin to skin touch.

"His name… He has so many… James… Bucky… Asset… Winter Soldier… He doesn't know which one's which, which he should answer to, which he really is… He's lost, confused,  _hungry_ … He's running, always running, never sleeping… And he's scared. Scared of the cold and the doctors and the metal on his arm… He wants help. He  _needs_ help. And… And…"

"And what?" He hurried toward her, a hand gripping her forearm tightly. "Tell me."

Darcy sucked in air, choked on it, as the images hit her.

A man… Scruffy, gaunt, with wild eyes that had seen too much, searching frantically, paranoid, looking for help while fearing it at the same time. He turned, looked right at her, peered right into her soul, and ice followed. Rushing through her veins, cold,  _so cold_ , her heart burned. Frosted glass crowded the edges of her eyes, the only thing to peer through like a window into death, decay, nothingness.

And then… Something bright, warm, a light that slowly de-thawed her, and him. The beard, scraggly, gnarled, dark whiskers, shortened, shaved, disappeared. Sunken cheeks filled out, the hunger ebbed, the fear, the cold, the confusion, melted away. And a smile, small, hopeful, turned up that mouth, of a man no longer tormented. A hand on his shoulder, a soldier at his side, and—

_"It's not fair to her," Bucky muttered._

_"What's not fair?"_

_"Our baggage. Hanging that on her shoulders… It's different for us. We were there, we saw those things, did those things… She wasn't. She's innocent."_

_"None of us are innocent, Buck; not really. She's not as scarred, she's got hope, but that's good… She balances us. Don't you feel it?"_

_"'Course I do. But she's been fighting it since the word 'go.'"_

_"She's scared. She knows what it mean, that this, us, it's not short-term. That's big, it's life changing, but… I've seen her with you, how happy she is. How loved she feels. We can have that, all of us."_

_Bucky nodded, his expression thoughtful. "You think she completes us…?"_

_"I think you love her," Steve said, "and_ I _love her, and we love each other… There's nothing wrong with that."_

_Bucky smiled then, raising an eyebrow at him. "When'd you become such a sap, huh, punk?"_

_"Shut up," Steve laughed, wrapping his arm around Bucky's neck and pulling him in close._

_"You really think she could love us?" Bucky wondered quietly._

_"I think she already does…" He lifted his head and stared forward, until Darcy could feel it, like her vision had melded with reality. "We just need to show her."_

"Miss? Are you all right?"

Darcy let out a gasp, lurching forward, blinking wildly. She pushed his hands away, her own shaking, and shoved up from her seat. No, no, no. This was not… This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Years ago, when she'd talked to her aunt about the funny things she kept seeing, the things that came true, Aunt Janine had laughed, waving it off. "It runs in the family. If you're smart, you'll do something with it."

Darcy had thought she was joking, making fun of her even, but then one night Janine had appeared on her doorstep, her eyes glazed and her expression solemn. She'd reached out, grabbing Darcy's arms tightly. "A soldier, not one, but two, a heart of gold and a heart of sorrow, melded at the soul. They'll come for you. Don't run, do you hear me? Don't ever run. Love, sweet and pure, it'll tie itself to you, to your heart, such a good,  _good_ heart you have… They'll find you, if you stay still long enough. They'll come for you and complete the circle. One heart, two men, three souls. Bound. Dark and light, balanced. Be the balance. Be the center." And then she'd simply… woken up, shaking her head, muttering to herself about sleep walking before she turned around, walked home in her slippers and her night gown, dismissing the whole thing.

Darcy hadn't given it much weight. The ravings of a woman who drank too much peach schnapps in her lifetime and had always been a little kooky. She had, however, taken her advice on using her abilities to better her life. But this… She hadn't been expecting this.

"The man…" Her voice was hoarse; she swallowed tightly. "The one you're looking for… You'll be together again, all of you, and then the circle will be complete."

"The circle?"

"Past and future, fused together…" Her eyes darted around, never quite landing anywhere. "That's it. That's all you get. You should go. Now."

He stared at her, shaking his head. "Wait, I… I have another question."

She stood from her chair, skirting around him, careful not to touch him. "I already told you what you need to know."

"But where?  _When?_  I… I've looked everywhere.  _Please_."

She looked past his shoulder, through the wall of beads that hung from her doorway, out into the green balcony, the neighbor's cat sitting on the railing, black tail swishing.

"He'll come to you when he's ready… He needs more time. He's… lost."

"That's it? You can't give me an address, a city, a… a goddamn  _country_?" he pushed.

She stared at the cat, at the green eyes staring back at her, and shivered. "It's wet. It's been raining… The alley smells like garbage and greasy food… The coat he's wearing is too big for him; the pocket's torn. He's cold. He's always cold and he hates it… He just wants to go home, but he doesn't know where that is. So he wanders, at night… To a place that looks like what home used to be. But ma's not there, Rebecca neither, so he sits under the stairs, they still creak on the third step… It's not home, it doesn't smell like home, but it's close enough."

He was touching her again, a hand on her shoulder, squeezing almost too tightly. "He's in Brooklyn… At the old apartment," he murmured.

Darcy shook her head, turning to him. "You can't go to him yet."

He scowled at her. "I can't leave him out there. You said yourself that he was cold and lost."

"He is." Exasperated, she told him again, "But he's not  _ready_. Not yet."

"I—"

"You'll spook him." She reached for him then, a hand on his arm, thumb rubbing side to side soothingly. "I know you miss him, that you just want him back, but… It's not about you. And if you push him too hard or too fast, you'll lose him again." She stared up at him. "I told you. You'll find each other. You all will."

He frowned. "You keep saying that. Like there's another person I need to be looking for…" His eyes darted around, brow furrowed. "Is this about Peggy?"

A flash echoed in her mind, soft brown hair, warm brown eyes, strength and courage and passion. It left a hollow ache in her heart. He'd loved her, or thought he could. His feelings ran deep, intertwined with those he still carried for Bucky. If Bucky wasn't ready to be found, Steve wasn't ready to move on.

"Not Peggy," she murmured, and looked up at him sadly. "Do you think you could be happy, with him alone?"

"Of course," he said, his voice thick, adamant,  _certain_.

Her visions were never wrong, she'd long learned that. One day, and she wasn't sure when, but enough time for a fractured mind to mend, for two men to get their feet under them again, he would look for her, they both would. But Darcy… she'd never been good at answering her own visions; she'd always preferred not to read herself, not to ask herself where she would go, what she would do, who she would love or who would love her. While others came to her for guidance, for answers to questions no one else could answer, she didn't want her life to be written in stone. She preferred to think that she was of the few strings of Fate that had a little more give to move as it pleased.

So she didn't tell him that one day he would come to her, that he would  _love_ her, and she let herself believe that she was not standing in front of one of two of her soul mates. Instead she reached up, stretching out her forefinger, dressed in a silver rose ring, and she dragged a purple nail down the arch of his cheek. "Your love is written, it is infinite, and when he is ready, you will have each other again. There is no end to a circle."

He stared down at her, his eyes washing over her face. He was handsome, even more so up close like this. Conflicted green eyes stared down into her own, hopeful but wary.

"When?"

"Always so eager to rush in, head first. Easy does it, Captain," she murmured, her gaze dropping to his mouth, firm and promising, and then she tore her eyes from him and stepped back, out of reach. "You'll know when it's time."

"Will I? Because it feels like it's time now."

"No, it doesn't," she told him, turning her back to him and walking to the door. "Or you wouldn't have waited to let me tell you different." She pushed the door open for him and waited for him to answer her non-verbal gesture.

He sighed, but stepped forward, joining her at the door. "How much do I owe you?"

"Consider it a gift."

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth open to argue.

"I never charge soul mates. Call it a quirk."

He stared at her a long moment, but eventually nodded, stepping through the door. He held it open, looking back at her. "How many people make a circle?"

She smiled at him, but it was sadder than she wanted it to be. Instead of answering, she turned around and walked away, her long, dark hair swaying at her back. The bell jingled as the door closed, and she let out a long, relieved breath. Leaving the intense scene of her main room, she returned to her balcony, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers and earth.

He would find Bucky in twenty-three days.

When they would come for her, she chose not to ponder.

* * *

Darcy thought she would get over it; that it would just fade into her memory like every other vision. She was still meeting with people, doing her job, but it lingered. That stare of his in the vision; the sound of their voices, the promise that they would be together. The chill of ice still coursing through her veins, through  _his_ veins before he got the help he needed. And he needed it; he  _deserved_ it.

She dreamed of him, of  _them_ , sometimes.

When Bucky was alone, he was cold, he was huddled in corners, pulling his too large jacket around him, scared to sleep, to dream, to be caught off guard.

But when he wasn't alone, when he had  _them_ with him, he was free. He was warm, sandwiched between their bodies, hands wrapped in theirs. She dreamed of gloves she would knit him, some fingerless, some not. She dreamed of his kiss, dragging down her throat, the rasp of his stubble scraping against her skin, his hands, one warm and one metal, dragging down her hips. And heat, at her back, another solid chest to lean against, callused fingers pulling her hair back, his breath against her ear, his lips brushing her cheek. Four hands on her body, constantly moving, keeping her on the knife's edge of pleasure, one arm around her winter soldier and the other around her captain. And their lips, meeting over her shoulder, their hands gripping at each other, desperate to hold on and never let go, two men who had known too much war and only wanted peace. She dreamed of them wrapped around each other, seeking out comfort and familiarity, holding tight to one another in hopes they wouldn't lose each other again.

When she woke, she missed them, missed the idea of what they could be, the three of them. She missed the husky sound of their laughter, of their voices. She missed the way they said her name and each other's and the crescendo of panted names as they climaxed. She missed the feel of their hands on her body and the whisper of their breath on her skin. She missed the promise of protection and love and strength that they gave her.

But as much as she missed it, she hated that she did. She didn't want to want them. She didn't want to miss them. She didn't want to tie herself to anybody, let alone  _two_  somebodies. Her life was her own, wasn't it? So what if she'd always found the idea of soul mates beautiful. So what if they fit her and she fit them. So what if nobody else would ever fill the spaces beside her like they did. She could live with that, couldn't she?

Steve said he could be happy with Bucky alone. He didn't need her. And she didn't need them.

* * *

Two weeks after Steve Rogers walked into her life, changing it irrevocably, she felt a shift in the air.

She closed shop early, her skin warmer than usual, a sign, always a sign, and she made herself dinner. When she looked at the soup bubbling away, she wondered why she'd made so much. Why she'd felt the urge to recreate one of her grandmother's recipes instead of cracking open a can of Campbell's. But then she heard the rustle of the beads moving at her door, and she went still, the weight of eyes on her back all too heavy.

But it wasn't fear that crept up her spine; it was something else entirely.

"You must be crazy hungry," she said, taking a second bowl down from the cupboard. "Do you want milk or water with dinner?"

When she received no reply, she turned her head, peering over her shoulder, and found him standing close to the table, his shoulders hunched and his head down. He was wearing a ratty baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, which were darting suspiciously.

"Water it is," she said, before crossing to the table to place a bowl down for each of them. She walked back to her fridge to take out the pitcher of water and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard before finally taking a seat at the table, pouring them each a drink.

He lingered, watching her from the corner of his eyes. His mouth parted, lips chapped, but said nothing.

"You're not sure why you're here, are you?" she asked, stirring her spoon through her soup as she stared up at him through her lashes. "It's okay… It happens sometimes. Usually when someone has a question but they aren't sure who or how to ask."

He continued to stare at her, his mouth pressed into a frown.

"You know what I do?" she wondered.

He gave a small nod.

"So which is it…? Do you want to know your future, or your past?"

He looked away.

"Or maybe you're wondering  _if_ you want to know." She stared at him searchingly. "Because knowing means  _really_ knowing. No more wondering. You'll know who you hurt, what they did to you… And you'll have to come to grips with that… Heavy stuff."

He looked back at her, brow furrowed.

"Come on," she urged, pointing her spoon to his bowl. "I know you're hungry. You haven't eaten in days."

He eyed her a moment longer but finally took a seat, reaching hesitantly for the spoon, keeping his bionic arm down, his hand tucked up in the sleeve.

"It won't scare me," she told him, her gaze set on his left arm. "It's not always lethal."

His eyebrow raised slowly, as if he didn't,  _couldn't,_ believe her. But he didn't say anything, instead lowering the spoon into the soup and scooping up a big bite of potato, chicken, and carrot. He raised it to his mouth, gave it a sniff, and then parted his lips.

"It's hot," she warned.

He didn't listen; instead he took that bite in whole, without blowing on it, and scooped up a second, and a third, hardly chewing before he swallowed it down.

"Easy tiger, there's plenty more to eat," she told him, somewhere between amused at his behavior and angry that his hunger had reached this point.

It was her own fault for telling Steve not to go to him, but she knew… He wasn't ready. Not yet.

He finished the whole bowl before she'd even put a dent in hers. She nodded her chin toward the stove. "Help yourself."

He stared at the pot and then back to her, but stood from his chair and crossed to it, scooping out another full bowl, near to overflowing. She was already thinking of how she could fill up a container for him to take with him; she had a ton of plastic ware.

He sat down again, eating a little more slowly now, his elbows on the table, his head hunched over his bowl like he thought somebody might come in and try to take it from him.

Darcy reached for the plate between them, ignoring the flinch of his bionic hand, and took one of the buns from it, cracking it open and spreading butter over both sides. She put it within his reach and then buttered a second one for herself. They ate in silence, for the most part, the clatter of spoon on bowl and chewing all that filled the air. But when she was finished, after washing out her bowl and putting it in the dish rack, she wiped her hands on a towel and watched him for a long moment.

"You can't move on until you know," she finally said, watching him as he picked apart his third bun, leaving it in flaky pieces. "And you want to move on, even if it scares you… You have something to look forward to." When his chin raised a little, she stifled her smile. "It's hard right now, looking past all the bullshit with the assholes who took you,  _molded_ you into something you didn't think you could be… People are going to tell you that it's not you, that you were never in control, and you'll go along with it, 'cause that's what they want to hear, but… People do things, not all of it good or right, but they do them for a greater cause. Somebody has to make the hard choices, pull the trigger when others can't, and it leaves a mark. There's blood on your hands, and not all of it is from choices you would have made, but some of it… Even before they took you, you were the one behind the scope, you were the one who had to do things, awful things, for the right reasons… It's part of who you are. Maybe not a part you like, maybe even a part you resent, but it's you all the same."

He looked up at her then, his eyes sad, his face drawn.

"It doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't make you like them…" She stared at him searchingly. "When he finds you, he's going to help you… You're going to find peace, acceptance…  _love_."

He grimaced, dropping his eyes.

"And you'll deserve it, even when you think you don't… Even when they seem too pure for someone like you. You're going to realize none of that matters. That they love you, and they always will."

He paused, his brow furrowed, but he continued to keep his silence.

"I can't give you your memories back. Somebody else will and… it's going to hurt. A lot. Enough that I almost want to tell you not to." She stared at his profile, dark and weary. "But you need to know. It's going to be hard and you're going to spend a lot of time wondering if it was better not to feel anything. But it'll get better… I promise."

With that, she turned around, digging out a large plastic container to fill with the leftover soup. She saved herself a bowl for lunch the following afternoon, but the rest would go to him. If she could stop his suffering, even a little bit, for only a little while, she wanted to.

His voice was like sandpaper, dry and cracked. " _They?_ "

She paused, turning as she pressed the lid down, and walked toward him, putting the still hot Tupperware container in front of him. She stared down at him, at his icy blue eyes that looked… almost hopeful as he stared back up at her.

She reached for him, never pausing when he flinched, and pressed her palm flat to his hollow, whiskered cheek. "Destiny has been a cold-hearted bitch to you," she said quietly. "But maybe it tries to make up for it in other ways."

His eyes dropped for a moment, thoughtful.

She let her hand slide away, but he caught it, rubbing a metal thumb over the rings that dressed her fingers. "Who would love a monster?" he wondered.

She turned her hand over and squeezed his. "That's not the right question."

When she released him, she took his empty bowl to the sink. She knew he was gone long before she turned around; the fact that not one bead made a sound told her he'd tried to warn her the first time. She smiled to herself as she cleaned up, noting happily that he had taken the soup with him.

* * *

He didn't visit her again, not for a while, but she knew that Steve found him, that he'd been brought to Avengers Tower and was now, finally, getting the help he needed. She still had the dreams… Visions was probably more apt. They were of future events, not just conjured up by a mind eager to take a bite out of two handsome soldiers, she knew that much. She could feel it, like a prickling of her skin, awareness, acknowledgement that, whether she was willing to accept it or not, they were out there, they knew of her existence, and one day, when it was time, they'd pursue her.

For now, he needed Steve. A familiar face to guide him through the worst of it. She would just be an added complication that he wasn't ready for. But eventually, maybe when he was a little more healed, he would seek her out again. For what reason, she wasn't sure. Was she a little jealous that her soul mates had each other while she had neither? Sometimes. Mostly in the mornings, when she woke up in an empty bed, bereft of the heat of their bodies on either side of her. But she had a life and she wouldn't ignore it in favor of pining over them. Half the time, she convinced herself she didn't even want them. They had each other and she… She could be happy with someone else or on her own. Choices. Crossroads. There were other paths she could take.

She continued her job, customer after customer, new ones and regular ones, old and young.

It was on a Sunday morning that she met Steve again, standing in a quiet book shop, the smell of old books in every breath she took.

"Business or pleasure?"

She tipped her head back, following the voice up, up, up, to the smiling face staring down at her. Raising her small stack, she said, "Pleasure. Sadly, the books they publish on my job aren't anywhere as accurate as some would like you to believe." Standing, she eyed the books he held, the titles all having something to do with amnesia or brainwashing. "Yours are personal too, I see."

"Yeah, oh, uh,  _yeah_ …" He frowned down at them. "I found him. But… it's been difficult."

She nodded, staring at the cracked spines for a long moment. "Has Stark talked to you about the chair yet?"

He went still, eyeing her curiously.

Her mouth ticked up. "Still doubt me, huh? Don't worry; I've met my fair share of skeptics. Keeps things interesting."

His gaze dropped, lips pursed. "Bucky mentioned that he met someone while he was…  _missing_. A woman that made him soup and told him that it would hurt, when he got his memories back, but he needed to do it anyway. That was you, wasn't it?"

"Sometimes people are drawn to me. I can't control it. It's even good for business… In this case, it was different. After hours, for one, and he snuck in through the balcony, so, not exactly normal. But…" She shrugged. "I've had weirder customers."

He frowned.

"Hey, no need to pull the protective soldier face. I have a taser; I can take care of myself." Shifting her feet, she said, "As for the chair, it  _will_ hurt.  _A lot_. And you're going to want to interfere, shut it down, but… you won't."

"No?"

She turned, examining a shelf of mismatched books, out of alphabetical order. She hated that. "As much as you don't want him to hurt anymore, as if anybody ever  _wants_ their lover to hurt… Well, unless you're a sadistic a-hole who ignores safe words… Anyway, it'll be hard, watching him go through that, but… He'll remember after, and he needs to."

"Why?" he wondered. "Why can't we just… start fresh?"

"Because." She turned to face him. "He needs to know what he did, who he hurt, or it'll keep eating at him."

He sighed, frustrated. "I don't understand how you know these things."

Darcy shrugged. "Runs in the family."

"Like… a mutant power…?" He eyed her curiously. "There are people who could support you with that."

"You mean Professor Xavier?" She half-grinned. "I've met him. Nice guy. But he specializes in mutants who are working toward control, or who want to join up and fight the good fight for equality."

"And you don't fit either of those?"

"I gained control on my own. And I support equal rights, for everybody, but mine is a power that doesn't lend itself to kicking ass."

"What about seeing the future? You could help predict the outcome of things… Battles, attacks on the school…"

"It doesn't work like that. People ask questions,  _specific_ questions, and I answer them…" She motioned her hand toward the window at a woman passing by. "A woman will ask me if she should quit her job, take the job offer in DC. I'll tell her no, that it'll fall through, so she sticks with the one she has and keeps looking." She pointed to a man on the other side of the road, putting change in the meter. "A guy will ask me if his wife still loves him. I'll tell him yes, but she's feeling unloved. He'll pick up flowers on the way home, surprise her, put more effort into showing her he loves her too. I see it because they ask for certain things, specific events. But those things can still change. If you walk into a fight expecting to win, you won't fight the same, you'll assume it's already won."

"What about with me, you knew things before I even asked them. Specific, personal things, about me and Bucky."

Darcy paused, taking a step back. "You were different. You both were."

He stared at her, watching her face, the way she fiddled with her books. "Is my life set in stone?"

"Nobody's life is," she whispered. "There are still things that can change. People are individuals. They make choices every day, one different choice and the map changes."

"But right now, there's a set map, isn't there? I was supposed to find you, ask you about Bucky. I needed to wait, give him time not just to be ready, but to talk to  _you_. And when it was the right time, that's when I went, that's when he was ready to come with me. Just like when it's the right time, he'll sit in Stark's chair, get his memories back."

She nodded faintly.

"You said something before, about soul mates… You asked me if I could be happy with just him. I told you I could. But you saw something, someone else…"

She didn't answer, staring at her hands, rubbing her thumb over her rings.

"Are we happier with them?"

Her gaze raised slowly, taking in his expression, carefully devoid of any positive or negative feelings. "No relationship is always happy. There's ups and downs."

"You're avoiding the question. Or maybe I'm asking it wrong…" He stared at her searchingly. "Is she happy with us?"

Her lips pursed. "She's already happy." Moving past him, she started toward the front, but something stopped her, made her turn, look at him over her shoulder. "You could be happy without her. Content with just him. You'd never regret that…"

"But she's supposed to be with us," he said knowingly. "Isn't she?"

Darcy hummed, turning back around. "Nothing's set in stone," she reminded, before walking away, moving to the front desk to pay for her books.

She didn't look back.

* * *

For the next two weeks, as if to convince her of just how wrong she was, she dreamed of him.

Steve had her pinned to the wall, his teeth scraping down her neck. His hands squeezed hers, hard enough that the rings on her fingers bit into her skin. "Say it," he told her, nipping at her collar bone.

She shook her head, raising her knee up, wrapping her leg around his narrow waist, inviting him closer, wishing she could reach down and pull his shirt up, press her hands into firm, warm skin.

He dragged his tongue up her neck, kissed her chin, and let his lips hover just over hers. He stared into her eyes, his gaze heavy, intense. "I want to hear you say it."

Darcy stared up at him, her brow knit. "Why?" she wondered, her voice cracked.

He nuzzled her nose with his, affectionate, adoring. "You need to… You can't always run from this, from us… You were made for us just as much as we were made for you."

She bit her lip, tipping her head back and staring at the ceiling. " _No_."

"I know you love us, Darcy. I know you miss us when we're not there. I know you wish Bucky was here, on his knees in front of you, pushing your skirt up so he could taste you. I know you wake up reaching for us, and you're disappointed when you're alone."

"Why can't you just be happy with what we have?" she wondered, knocking her head back against the wall.

"Because I want to  _keep_ you. I spent too much of my life separated from people I loved.  _Missing_ him. I have Bucky back now. You're the only one holding back." He pressed his hips up against hers, nipping at her lower lip as she whimpered, squeezing her leg around his waist. "If you need time to be ready, fine, but don't push us away. You want this, you want us."

Breathing labored, she lowered her head to meet his eyes. "I've seen your future. I've seen what happens when I love you." She blinked as her eyes burned. "I've seen the battle wounds and the wars and the days and nights spent sitting beside your hospital beds. I can count on both hands how many times you both try to push me away, to tell me I'm better off without you. So don't tell me that wanting you,  _loving_ you, is so much better. At least here, at a distance, I don't have to worry about losing you."

"Yes, you do. As long as you're not with us, you don't have us. You told me yourself that no relationship is all happy. There's ups and downs and it's  _worth_  it. It doesn't matter that we try to push you away, because you know it's temporary. You know we'll realize how  _stupid_  we're being. How much we need you. It's the three of us; it's always going to be three of us." He swallowed tightly, releasing one of her hands so he could cup her cheek, his fingers stroking gently. "Darcy… It's time to stop fighting fate…  _Come home_."

A tear spilled from her eye as she swallowed thickly, and nodded, a short jerk of her head. He smiled, slanting his lips over hers, and slid a hand up the skirt of her dress, finger stroking over the gauzy fabric of her stockings, peeling them down her leg to touch bare skin. It felt so good, so  _right_. She wanted another pair of hands to join his, but even this, the two of them, was enough for now. They would make it up to Bucky later.

* * *

Darcy jerked awake, gave a low grumble of frustration and fell back to her bed.

She wasn't sure how far down the road that was, but it wasn't far enough. For two weeks, her mind had been rebelling against her decision not to pursue them. She had been adamant that they could be happy together and she could live her life separately. It didn't matter what her visions said; she would not be forced down a specific path.

Turning over onto her side, she startled when she found Bucky sitting in a chair a few feet away.

"Christ on a cracker," she muttered. "I don't want to set you back a step in your recovery, but creeping on sleeping strangers isn't the best way to create a lasting friendship."

He wasn't looking at her, staring instead at a pair of her shoes, half shucked under her bed. "Stark built the chair."

She rested her head on her arm and gazed at him a long moment. "Are you scared?" she wondered.

He raised his eyes to meet hers and admitted, "Terrified."

"Of the pain, or remembering?"

He swallowed thickly. "Both."

Nodding faintly, she said, "It won't feel like it at first, maybe not for a while, but… later, you'll say it was worth it."

"Doesn't help me now," he muttered, mouth twisted up in a humorless smile.

"Hindsight," she said, shrugging. Pushing up from her bed, she pushed her blanket off her and dropped her feet to the floor, wiggling her toes. "Are you hungry?"

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. "Do you always feed strangers that break into your apartment?"

She smiled. "No. You're the first."

"To be fed or to break in?"

She grinned at him, but said nothing, standing from her bed and walking toward the door, stuffing her feet in a pair of slippers as she went. The sliding glass door was open, admitting the neighbor's cat, who was happy to follow at her heels as she walked into the kitchen, dragging a hand back through tangled hair. "Does he know you're here?" she wondered as she walked to the fridge, searching for eggs and bacon.

He lingered at the far end of the counter, watching her. "I didn't say where I was going."

"You told him before though, that you'd come to me…"

He shrugged, turning his eyes away. "Was that wrong?" he wondered, sincerely uncertain.

"No." Pulling out a cutting board, she laid the bacon out on it to be cut into little pieces. "Scrambled eggs and bacon sound good?"

He hummed, she assumed, agreeably.

"I could add peppers. I have green and red."

"Green," he said.

Nodding, she walked back to the fridge and dug around in the crisper, pulling out a green pepper before turning back to the cutting board. "It's weird, you know." He didn't answer, but she could feel the question anyway. "That I always see you two separately… You're worried about each other, you love each other, but you always come alone."

Maybe that was a good thing, though; she wasn't so sure she could handle both of them at the same time, not yet anyway. In her visions, it was all so easy, so natural, the way they all came together, reaching for one another, one unit. Even as they were kissing each other, they still held her, still kept her close, still involved her. The love was infinite, shared, with no one left out. But here, the way she kept meeting with them, it was like she was getting a chance to know them separately, as individuals, and when it was time, the three of them would come together and never really part. It was a heavy thought and she shook it off as soon as it started to solidify.

"Do you wish he was here?" His voice was like a shock of cold water, bringing her back from her musings abruptly.

She turned to look at him. "Are you asking if I prefer him over you?"

His lips pursed, and she saw the worry at the edges of his mouth.

"There's no preference." She shrugged, turning back to the board and chopping up the peppers to be put into a pile in one corner. "Which, if you haven't figured out, means that you're not 'less than.' You're the same. You matter just as much as he does."

She could feel his eyes boring into her back, but didn't turn.

"I dream about you," he said softly. "About both of you."

"Do you?" she said, her voice neutral.

"I dream about how you taste… Your skin, your lips, that spot on your neck that makes you whimper…" His voice was getting closer as he crossed the room. "In my dreams, I know you… Every part of you. It's like I've spent my whole life learning who you are, inside and out. Like I've known you,  _loved_ you, for years…"

She paused, the knife she held trembling in her grip. "They're just dreams."

"I don't think they are." He paused just behind her, the heat of his body sinking through her clothes and warming her back. "I think it's a promise."

She bit her lip before she whispered, "Of?"

"The future… When all of it's worth it. The pain and the memories… I'll be a better person. A  _happy_ person." His fingers stroked up her back and stopped at the nape of her neck, resting there, warm and heavy. "I'll have both of you, and you'll have me.  _Us_."

Darcy let out a shuddering breath, closing her eyes tightly. "Sometimes dreams feel real. Sometimes—"

He turned her, a hand on her hip, and cupped her cheek with the other. "You whisper it against my hair, when you think I'm sleeping… That I'm worth it, that I'm a good person, that you love me…" He stared at her searchingly. "And Steve, he does the same thing when you fall asleep. It's a circle, like you said. Me and him and you."

Her heart clenched in her chest. "I don't…"

"You're not ready yet. I'm probably not either. I'm still… fucked up. My mind, my memory, it's all… just a mess." He folded his lips, grinding his teeth. "But it helps, those…  _dreams_ , whatever they are. Because I know one day I won't be. One day we'll both be ready." He nodded, licking his lips, and then he leaned in, his forehead pressed to hers, and he kissed her. Just a slow, closed mouth kiss that she felt right down to her toes. It felt like coming home and she almost couldn't catch her breath for a moment. When he leaned back, he let out a shaky breath, warm against her chin, and he said, "I can wait."

When she opened her eyes, he was gone, but she could still feel the pressure, the tingle, of her mouth.

He  _would_ wait.

They both would.

And one day, they wouldn't have to.

One day, she would be ready, they all would, and their love would be whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be short, and not nearly as complicated... fuck.


	2. yong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2a/set?id=130915051&lid=3820851)] | [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2b/set?id=130922833&lid=3820851)] | [[3](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2c/set?id=130924883&lid=3820851)] | [[4](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2d/set?id=130933917&lid=3820851)] | [[5](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2e/set?id=130943769&lid=3820851)] | [[6](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2f/set?id=130948458&lid=3820851)] | [[7](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2g/set?id=130945862&lid=3820851)] | [[8](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_2h/set?id=130950211&lid=3820851)] |

It was a bad habit, leaving her balcony door unlocked, and he noticed.

"You're inviting trouble, кукла…" His voice came from the darkness, melding with shadows enough that it should have scared her. But she was used to it, to his way of blending in.

"Maybe I'm just forgetful," she replied, shifting over onto her back to stare at the ceiling above, speckled with glow-in-the-dark stars. The cheap kind that weren't any less appealing because of their price.

He hummed, sitting in the chair across from her bed, shifting one of his feet so the heel of his boot dragged over the floor. It was his way of directing her gaze, letting him know where, exactly, in the room he was. He still preferred the dark, but he never wanted to make her feel like he was hiding.

"I could get in even if you locked it…" he told her. "So if you're worried I'll stop coming… Don't be."

She hummed, raising her head to tuck an arm underneath it. "We need to work on your social skills so you know that some of the things you say border on threats."

He smirked. "Maybe I like it that way."

"That's probably not doing much for your social life," she muttered with a sigh.

"I don't need one. I have you and I have Steve."

"You need more than that," she argued.

"I don't."

"You—"

He crossed the room silently, kneeling beside her bed. "He asks about you sometimes…"

She paused. "He knows you visit?"

"I say your name, when I'm sleeping."

She swallowed tightly, staring at the dark outline of his profile, her eyes slowly adjusting.

"I've told him about the dreams." His hand stroked down her arm, bionic fingers light on her skin, skimming over her pulse before pausing at her palm, drawing tiny circles there. "You should feel how hard he gets, when he thinks about it, all of us… When he thinks about you on your knees as he takes you from behind, his fingers tangled in your hair… You like it when he's a little rough, when he loses control and just fucks you… I like it too. Reminds me he's not perfect, just human… We're all just human." He walked his fingers from her hand to her hip and across her bare stomach, circling her navel before they dipped low, skimming the edge of her underwear.

She shivered, biting down on her lip.

"What do you dream of?" he wondered, leaning forward to rest his chin on her forearm, the prickle of his stubble tickling her.

"You. Him. Separate. Together. It ranges…"

"And where are you?"

She didn't answer right away, focusing on the lazy way his fingers moved on her skin, dragging lower, drawing shapes over the thin fabric between his touch and her. "What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you about the last dream, with you sitting in that same chair you always sit in, the red one in the living room, because it keeps you out of the line of sight from the window. And I crawled into your lap, putting your book aside, and you slid your hands up my skirt and tore my panties at the hip, fingered me until I came, crying your name against your mouth, and then you fucked me right through my orgasm and into another and another…"

His fingers trembled against her.

"If I think hard enough, I can still feel you between my legs."

He let out a strangled breath and cupped her, heel digging into her mound. "If you want it so badly, why do you keep fighting it?"

Darcy bit her lip, her toes curling as she fought the urge to open her legs and invite his hand to wander and tease. "You're not ready…  _He's_ not ready."

"What about you?" His fingers skimmed down her thigh. "What does Darcy want?"

She turned her head to stare at him, his eyes seeming bright enough to cut through the dark. "To wake up."

He frowned at her. "Not yet."

"This is temporary," she told him. "You shouldn't visit. I don't even know how you keep doing this…"

He smirked then. "If it's only a dream, why not have a little fun?"

Darcy shook her head. "You're his. You're not mine."

He scowled at her then, his brow furrowed. "Only because you won't let me… Упрямый. Всегда такой упрямый."

"He needs you," she insisted, shaking her head as her throat tightened. "I can make the dreams stop. All of them. I can make all of it stop."

His hand squeezed around her thigh before he released it abruptly and reached for her face, cupping her chin and tipping it so she would look at him. " _Don't_. Don't let go. He'll come around. I know he will. I've seen it."

She stared at him, her fingers stretched up to stroke over the plains of his face. "Nothing is set in stone."

He shook his head, his eyes wild. "Darcy, пожалуйста—"

She sat up abruptly as she woke, sucking in a gulp of air as her eyes darted around her room, still as cluttered and kitschy as ever. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she dropped her head down atop them and just tried to steady her breathing. It was just a dream. He'd been doing this for months, visiting her in her head, creating a dialogue, checking in with her, trying to convince her of the upsides of being with them. Sometimes, she tried to convince herself it wasn't really him, but a trick of her mind. Only it wasn't. She could feel him, a residual trace of him in her mind, like footprints leading her to the truth.

A cool breeze swept over her skin and made her shiver.

She lifted her head and looked over to see her balcony door was open an inch.

Standing from her bed, she walked to it, closing it abruptly, and then turned on her heel to leave.

She wouldn't change her mind. What she'd said was true. He was Steve's, not hers. They needed each other. She had no place there.

* * *

Darcy stared at the picture she'd picked out for the day, her mouth set in a frown. She'd been drawn to it, but her reasons were still confusing her. It was dark, eerie, almost too much. Black with faint silver threads crisscrossing in all directions, and a little splash of red in the center. She took it down twice before finally deciding she needed to stop fussing over it.

For the most part, her day was average. Boring even, on some scale. Her regulars came and went, a few curious people popped in, some stayed, others decided they weren't sure they wanted to know the answer to their question, and a few only came in to see what the fuss was about. There were always critics, non-believers, people expecting a sideshow for them to mock. She didn't mind so much; she'd long gotten used to it.

It was nearly time to close shop when the guest of honor finally arrived.

Darcy felt her long before she stepped through the door. It was strong, deceptively so, and pulsed with energy and suspicion. Darcy shuffled her tarot cards as she waited, the ring above the door letting her know when she'd entered and the shuffle of beads telling her just how close she was.

"Let me guess, you knew I was coming," a coy voice said.

Darcy's mouth turned up on one side. "You hero types are like beacons. So much going on, past and future, you might as well be advertising it…"

"Hero, huh? Should I be flattered?"

Darcy raised her head to look at her, leaning back in her chair. "I have a feeling you'll be anything you want to be, Natalia…" She cocked her head curiously. "Or do you prefer Natasha?"

She remained still for a long moment before asking, "Did James tell you that?"

"What answer are you hoping for? That I'll be a fraud or that I'll be the real deal?" Darcy set her tarot cards down beside her. "You came here for a reason. You have a question."

"I asked one already. How many are you willing to answer?"

Darcy arched an eyebrow. "The right one."

Reaching for the chair on her end of the table, Natasha pulled it out, taking a seat and peering at Darcy curiously. "How do I know I'm asking the right question?"

"You don't.  _I_ do." She shrugged. "I could give you a hint, but where's the fun in that?"

Natasha's lips quirked faintly. "All right… Are you a mutant? Can you…  _control_  other people with your foresight?"

"I don't control anybody. I see where they can go and, if they ask the right questions, I tell them how to get there… No control wanted or necessary."

"You said 'can.' As in, it's a possibility, not a definite." Natasha eyes narrowed. "But some things are, aren't they? Some things are destined to happen."

Darcy leaned forward. "You were destined to become who you are. Raised from a young age to be a tool, only to learn you could wield yourself far better than they could… You were destined to be more than what they made you for, and you will be. If you let yourself."

Natasha leaned back, her eyes cutting away.

"That's not what you were implying, but it feels good, doesn't it? To know that some things were out of your hands, some things you just couldn't change, no matter how much you wanted to."

"What kind of destiny is that?" Natasha wondered, her hand balling into a fist. "Why couldn't my destiny be a loving family? A normal life?"

"Do you want the trite answer? That some people are simply  _born_ great…?" Darcy shook her head. "The truth is, destiny picked you because you were the only one who could survive it. It's not fair and it's not pretty, but it's all there is." She stood then, stepping away from the table and moving toward the picture she'd hung that morning. "The question you want to ask yourself is simple… Who is better off, the spider or the fly?"

Natasha stared at her back a long moment. "The fly wanted friendship, acceptance; the spider wanted only victory."

"Is that what the fly wanted?" Darcy turned to face her. "It was flattery that got the fly in the end, not a drive for friendship. Friends, real friends, tell you the truth, and the truth isn't always flattering… The spider was smart; she desired survival, not empty words. She knew the worth of an empty seduction."

"So the spider stays alone, friendless, but lives, is that it?"

"That depends on the spider…" Darcy moved back toward her, never breaking eye contact. "I told you there was greatness in your future. Some futures are bought with your past, and yours was worse than most. What does a spider deserve? What has she earned?"

Natasha stared up at her, her eyes wide, and her throat working as she swallowed. "I don't know," she whispered thickly.

"When a spider wants friends, she doesn't look for it in flies. She shouldn't look for it in other spiders either… But that doesn't mean there aren't options outside of that. It just means she has to look a little harder."

She tipped her head back, working her jaw around. "And what, trust that they'll always have my back?"

"Trust that they will not flatter you, but pay you what you're due."

"Respect?"

Darcy shrugged. "You tell me."

"I thought you were the one answering questions here."

"Only the right ones…" She grinned then, turning on her heel. "Tea?" she asked.

"I'm more of a coffee girl."

Darcy looked back at her over her shoulder and smiled as she gave a short nod. "Coffee it is then."

* * *

His fingers stroked up and down the length of her back, brushing her hair to the side for maximum exposure to her skin. She wondered if there was still residue left behind from his charcoal, smudged across her skin like he was marking her. His fingertips were soft, the opposite of Bucky's, which were callused on one hand and smooth metal on the other. Sometimes, if she concentrated, she thought she could feel each individual whorl of Steve's fingerprint on her skin.

"You're thinking too much," he said, his voice low, deep in his chest, both from how he was laying and from the creeping exhaustion of the last few days. He'd come back from a mission too wired to do anything; she'd woken up to him drawing her in the dim light of the moon coming through her curtains.

"All I do is think," she reminded him.

"You're more than that," he argued. "Your power, how you help people, the things you see, that's just a part of you… A big part, sure, but still just a part…" He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his thumb rubbing along the back of it. "You're more than you think are… More than you think  _I_ think you are."

Darcy turned her head, resting it on her arm. "What makes you think I think of you at all?"

He smiled, stroking his knuckles down her side. "I bet you think of me a lot…"

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Almost as much as I think of you."

"Almost, huh?"

"Mmhmm." He kissed down her arm, drawing her hand out from beneath her pillow. His mouth dragged down her forearm and his teeth scraped across her wrist lightly. "There's only one other person that thinks about you as much as I do, and he's currently on a mission, so he can't fight me for who's got you on their mind more."

She stared at his mouth as he kissed each one of her fingertips, his thumbs massaging her palm. "I dreamt of him last night," she murmured.

"Yeah? What'd you dream?"

She shifted over the bed and slid her leg over his waist. "I'd rather show you."

Steve's hands skimmed up her thighs to her hips and squeezed. "You trying to exhaust me 'til I sleep, sweetheart?"

"It's a tough job, but I think I'm the right person for it." She reached for his hands and brought them up her stomach, cupping them around her breasts as she rocked herself back against his cock, hardening with each downturn of her hips, her pussy rubbing against his stomach.

"You gonna tell Bucky about this when you fall asleep, huh?" His thumbs circled her nipples, rubbing and flicking.

"If I do, he'll just join in the fun… Mix it up so I've got him pressed to my back, his fingers…" She dropped her own hand between her thighs, stroking her clit as she continued to rock herself against him.

"You miss his fingers, Darcy? Hm? You miss how he feels inside you?"

"Yes," she breathed.

His hand slid down her stomach slowly, taking its time, and she bit her lip.

"Steve, please,  _please_ …"

"What do you want? Tell me what you want."

"Touch me… Fuck me… Just do something, please," she whimpered.

He chuckled, low under his breath, and turned them over abruptly, his hand sinking between them and his fingers rolling her clit between them before they sunk lower, dipping inside her. He lowered his head, taking one of her nipples between his lips and suckled, his teeth gently digging into her soft skin.

Darcy couldn't catch her breath, squirming and arching up to meet his fingers, one of her hands buried behind his neck, holding him tight as he mouthed kisses from one breast to the other.

His free arm waved toward the bedside table, abruptly yanking the drawer open and grabbing out a condom. His fingers left her just long enough to tear open the packet and roll the condom on and then he was spreading her legs and stroking her clit. Just as she felt her orgasm beginning, he sunk inside her.  _Oh, God, yes._

Darcy jarred awake, panting, sweat beading on her skin. She groaned with irritation, her hand falling between her thighs to find them damp. A complete lack of satisfaction flooded her as she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. This needed to stop. These…  _memories_  or visions or whatever. She couldn't live like this, constantly being reminded of a life she wasn't going to have, teased with it until she felt desperate, craving the touch of a man she knew better from the future than the present.

With an irritated grunt, she threw her sheet off and left her bed, stalking toward her bathroom for a cold shower.

* * *

The picture she hung that morning was one of a lone boat on a stormy sea, close to capsizing, but not quite there yet. The rush and swell of water was so well defined, she swore she could smell the sea water and feel the rocking of the boat beneath her feet. She didn't understand the meaning of it until just before lunch.

Her morning went by as usual, with no hiccups as she met with her usuals and greeted a few new clients. There was a lull just after one o'clock that she often took her break during. She had a pot of stew bubbling on her stove when she heard the bell jangle above the door. While she'd turned the sign to warn that she wouldn't be available for the next half hour, she hadn't locked the door, and her guest seemed to have taken it as an invitation.

Turning the heat off on her stove, she left her kitchen. Darcy stepped through the bead door into her main room to find a familiar face, and felt a hitch of wariness swell in her throat.

"Jeremiah," she said. "Last time we met, you said you wouldn't be visiting again… in not so many words."

In fact, he'd upturned her table and screamed at her that his whole life was her fault. She'd remained calm, even if her heart hammered quickly in her chest. Jeremiah could be…  _difficult_. He wanted things, he wanted his life to go a certain way, and it seemed no matter what he did, life never followed the direction he wanted.

"I've been doing some thinking, and you were right before… I wasn't asking the right question…" He turned to her, hands in the pockets of his pants, and shrugged. "So I spent some time, a lot of time actually, trying to come up with the right one."

Darcy felt uneasy, a pit in her stomach that was full of warning. "I'm not sure…"

"Please," he asked, his voice cracking. "Please, I've tried so hard. Just… just one more question and I— I swear, I'll never come back."

She stared at him, his expression wrought with desperation, and she gave a short, simple nod, before she crossed to her table and took a seat.

Jeremiah quickly took the seat across from her and held his hands out, palm up for her to touch.

Hesitantly, she reached forward, the tips of her fingers brushing his palms before resting completely over his hands. "Before we start, remember what I told you… This isn't a wish factory. You can ask about your life, and I can guide you in some cases, but I can't  _make_ things happen… I can only  _see_  how they'll happen."

He nodded jerkily and looked down at their joined hands. "I… No, sorry… I'm nervous. Just…" He drew in a deep breath. "My question is… Will my life ever be what I want it to be?"

Darcy frowned, but closed her eyes, focusing her energy, the whisper of his words swirling around in her head. Threads of visions moved through her mind's eye. The black and white ones were of the past, things now set in stone, unchangeable. But then there were the threads leading to the future, different paths he could walk down… One was a bright, violent shade of purple-red, static trembling all around it, warning her not to follow that thread. She pushed it aside and followed another, a calm blue; it led to peace financially, but disappointment elsewhere. He would marry, get divorced a year later, and fall into a depression. His new job would be good for him in getting a new apartment, but the loss of his wife would make him bitter, and he would begin drinking to deal with it. He would die at fifty-two, no children, an ex-wife he Facebook stalked entirely too much, obsessed with her new life, new husband, and three children.

Darcy left that thread and moved to another; green and warm. There he would make things work with his wife, talk to her instead of avoiding her, forgive her for the infidelity with her ex-boyfriend, and they would seek out couple's counseling. But he would turn down his new job in favor of working on his relationship and they would struggle financially for a long time. He would come to resent his wife for that and though they would stay together, their marriage would be tumultuous as they'd both quickly forget the coping skills they learned in counseling. His wife would inevitably seek out comfort in other men, but they wouldn't divorce, causing long term friction and animosity between them. They would have two children, both of whom were loved, but didn't call them often, avoiding the chaos of their relationship at all costs. He would die old, a few years after his wife, and would be heavy with regret.

She pushed that one away too and found a third, yellow string. He never met his wife, he took the job, and died early from a stress heart attack.

She tried orange then. He dated his wife, but eventually moved on, never took the job, moved out of state, met someone else, and then someone else, and someone else; an endless parade of dating but never quite clicking, always wondering if his wife had been the right one and he'd ruined it. He'd lose his job after fifteen years of dedicated service and, unable to find anything worth his qualifications, settle for something he didn't much like. He would last two years before he committed suicide.

Every thread lead to disappointment. He was never happy enough, never content with what he had, always sabotaging himself. She paused again, by the red, pulsing thread, but refused to pull it, wariness prickling over her skin.

Finally, she drew away, raising her hands from his palms and blinked herself back into focus.

Jeremiah stared at her eagerly.

She chewed the inside of her lip. She always hated these cases, wondering if it was better to lie than to admit the truth. And, in some cases, she had, like to Cora, the elderly woman that came to her last month, asking if she would get a chance, before she died, to meet the son she gave up for adoption. Darcy lied, told Cora she would, but she knew she wouldn't. She knew Cora would die two weeks later from heart failure. She just hadn't wanted her to spend the next two weeks disappointed. Instead, she gave her hope.

In this case, with Jeremiah, she was at a crossroads. If she told him that his life would never be the way he wanted it to be, then he would ask her how he could change it. But she had seen every road he could take, every different choice he could make, and he always managed to do the wrong thing. Even when he started out with the right choice, he somehow managed screw it up again. Some people were just like that. Not everybody had a happy ending.

"You remember when you first came to me…? You asked me what you had to do to become rich."

He nodded, his brow furrowed.

"I told you there was a job opportunity that would be presented to you, and it still will be, but I also told you that wealth didn't make a person rich… And you laughed, because you thought I wasn't seeing the big picture. And then you came back, and you asked me if you would ever find love. I told you that there was a woman you would meet and she could be your wife one day, but that love didn't come easy, it's something you have to work at. You told me you'd worked your whole life, you just wanted something easy. You came back a  _third_  time, asked me if you were going to have everything you wanted, and I told you no. And you flipped the table, called me a heinous bitch, and told me you'd never come back…" She stared at him. "I'm going to tell you again what I've told you before. This is not a wish factory. I see your future, I see the paths you can take, and every single one you take leads to disappointment. Not because you  _don't_ get what you want, but because you never appreciate what you have and you always want more. You're greedy, Jeremiah. Greedy and angry and bitter, and that's all you'll ever be if you don't find a way to be different."

He stared at the table top, his mouth set in a frown. "So that's it? That's your big revelation?" He finally looked up at her, staring at her darkly. "Or maybe you're just mad at me because of what happened last time, huh? Maybe everything you're saying is just bullshit…"

"You believe what you want to believe." Darcy stood from her chair. "I've answered your question. Now it's time for you to hold up your end of the deal."

"Fine, I'll go." He shoved up from the chair and looked her over. "You're just a hack anyway." With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out, tearing a few strings of beads from the doorway as he went.

It wasn't until she could feel the angry energy he was projecting begin to fade that she could really breathe. Hurrying into her kitchen on shaky knees, she flipped the heat back on the stove and mechanically made her lunch. Bowl in hand, she finally took a seat at her kitchen table, but when she reached for her spoon, she felt her hands tremble finely and hugged them to her chest.

He wasn't the first angry customer, and he wouldn't be the last. But that didn't make it any easier.

* * *

"I wasn't sure you'd meet me."

Darcy raised an eyebrow as she took a seat in the chair across from Natasha. "I'm surprised you invited me out… I get a lot of customers, but not many who want to be seen with me in public."

Natasha's mouth turned up at the corners. "People are funny like that. They want what you can give them, but they never want to acknowledge it."

"I don't mind, generally. I have a few friends in the business. Easier to talk to people who know what it's like." She shrugged, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the table. "So what made you want to get coffee anyway?"

"Curiosity, mostly."

"It wasn't sated enough before?"

Natasha raised one shoulder. "When I went to see you, it wasn't about me, not initially. I was more curious about your relationship with a couple of my teammates… But then, well, things got away from me."

"Sometimes you visit thinking you have one question and then you find out there's something else you really wanna know… Happens to a lot of people." Darcy took the lid off her coffee and set it aside to cool. "Do you have another question?"

"Not one you need to exercise your powers for." Natasha looked her over curiously. "You said before, that friends won't flatter me. I don't think you will, and maybe I need more friends. Besides… I get the feeling I'm going to be seeing a lot of you in the future."

Darcy hummed thoughtfully. "I'm never opposed to making friends."

"Good." Natasha nodded. "How does shopping and a movie sound?"

"I see your shopping and raise you paint ball…"

Natasha smirked. "Done."

* * *

"You keep leaving your door open."

Darcy looked at him over her shoulder, her hands tucked into oven mitts. She bent at the waist, opening the oven door to pull out the roast chicken inside. "You keep sneaking into my apartment. You know, it's a little hard to tell the difference sometimes; if they're dreams or reality."

"What do you want them to be?" He crossed the room silently, standing just behind her as she put the chicken aside and reached into a drawer for the potato masher.

"Here, make yourself useful," she told him, handing him the masher before she started pulling down plates.

Bucky stepped to the stove and considered the pot in front of him before he got to work. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and the ratty clothes of before were replaced with dark jeans and a white t-shirt, nondescript, but comfortable and new.

She dished out the food for them, cutting down the chicken into slices and then legs and wings. He always ate at least twice as much as she did. Sometimes she caught herself wondering what it would be like to cook for both of them, to have a big meal with her and the boys. But then she would shake her head and dismiss the idea. That was a path better not followed, even in her head.

"Does he know you're here?" she wondered as she carried their plates to the table, where a bowl of boiled carrots and another of mashed potatoes sat. He brought the butter and the gravy boat with him, taking a seat across from her.

"They don't like it when I leave the tower. They're still worried about how messed up my head is… Figure if I sneak out, don't mention it to him, he can't take the blame for it."

"Doesn't mean he won't try to," she mused, scooping carrots onto his plate even as he wrinkled his nose at them. "It was carrots or peas, and you hate peas more."

"'Cause they taste like shit."

"Opinion argued, but accepted." She pointed her fork at his plate. "You're still getting carrots, though."

"What's wrong with corn, or broccoli?"

Her mouth turned up at the corners. "Am I taking suggestions now?"

He snorted, resting his elbows on the table. "You tell me, you're the one leavin' your door open."

"Does that make it an invitation?"

He cut off a chunk of chicken and looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "You know, you say you're fighting this, but I don't think you're fighting too hard… I think you want this, just as much as I do…"

Darcy frowned. "Maybe it's not a matter of wanting… Maybe it's a matter of knowing better."

His brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means sometimes you have to put yourself first, and it's not selfish."

His jaw ticked. "You don't think we'd be good to you?"

She stared at him, the frustration and worry plain on his face. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're worried about. It's not that I'm scared I'm going to wake up one night and you're going to kill me because of a nightmare you can't control… You won't."

"Then what is it?" He shook his head. "I know you've seen what I saw, how good we could be together, so why're you fighting it?"

"You need time to heal, and I can't help with that. I might  _know_ what you've been through, on a logical level, but I don't have those experiences. That's where you and Steve connect. You've spent nearly your whole lives glued to each other's sides, and there's nothing wrong with that, but it doesn't leave a whole lot of room for anyone else." She scooped potatoes onto her plate and used her fork to make a dip in the middle, adding butter and gravy. "You're going to campaign for this, because you like the idea behind what it could be, but Steve won't. Steve only needs you. If he accepts me, it's because he knows you want me there. I don't want to be that person."

"I've seen you with him; it's not like that. He wants you, too." He reached across the table then, his hand landing on top of hers. "What are you so afraid of, huh?"

She stared down at their hands, his bionic fingers stretched over her skin with such familiarity. Months. They'd had months, between visits like this and the dreams they shared. She would be lying if she said she didn't miss having him around. Didn't wake up reaching for him. Didn't sometimes let herself want everything he talked about. But that didn't change things.

"Everything you see are possibilities, not definites. That means that  _yes_ , he could love me. But only if I do or say the right thing at the right time. He could just as easily resent me because I'm taking up your time, or because it should've been Peggy and not me. There are a hundred different paths, different threads this could follow, and you're only seeing the best of them. But there are others, the ones where he can't accept me and you love him too much to hurt him, so you stay with him and you stop visiting and I have to learn to let you go." She ground her teeth. "I'm glad that you have each other, I  _want_  you to have each other. He'll make you happy, he'll always look out for you, and you can grow old together. But I won't risk all the ways it could go wrong."

"Why not? If it's not gonna last, then why not enjoy the good parts anyway?

"Because sometimes it's not enough. You get a taste and you want more, you want all of it, and then you realize you shouldn't have tempted yourself, because it only leads to disappointment. Why go down that path?" She shook her head. "Every day I see how lives can change from one little choice. Well, this is mine."

He sighed, long and loud and full of exasperation, but he didn't let go of her hand. And, really, it said a lot about how stubborn he was. But she could be just as, if not more, stubborn than him.

* * *

His head was on her stomach, her fingers carding through his hair. They'd been like this what felt like hours, but might have only been a few minutes. Six weeks; she hated the long missions. There had been longer; one was almost four months. But this felt different. She could always tell. Bucky had wanted time along, said he needed some space, and quickly left for the gym. He would come back later, curl himself around her, and hold tight as he tried to get some sleep. That was just how he coped sometimes.

Steve was different; he wanted immediate physical comfort. He needed something solid to hold onto to ground him.

"You wanna talk about it?" she wondered.

He shook his head, sighing, his hot breath melting through the fabric of her shirt to warm her skin. "Missed you," he said after a few beats of silence.

"I missed you too."

"It's different…" His brow furrowed. "It feels different at night, when it's just me and Bucky… I keep reaching for you, get confused when I don't find you."

"I don't stay over every night."

"Enough nights…" He skimmed a hand down and squeezed her hip. "It's different for him. He can go to sleep and still have you. I can't. I don't get the dreams, and I don't know why."

"Could just be from all the mental work HYDRA did on him, writing and rewriting his brain, they might've opened a few passageways they never meant to. Now he's sensitive to it."

He hummed, but he still sounded frustrated.

"You feel left out," she said softly.

"Not exactly. Just…  _different_. Like you have something together that I can't be a part of. Not because you don't want me to be, just because I can't… As a kid, I got used to not measuring up. Then things changed, doors opened, and it felt like I was finally going to be a part of… But now there's this, and it doesn't matter what I do, I can't be a part of it."

"You  _are_  a part of it, an integral part, you just don't see it the way we do."

He sighed, lifting his head up to look at her. "He knows you. He sees things and he knows parts of you that you don't talk about. Like your fears and your worries, and that makes you closer. It makes it easier for you to be together. But I—"

"He doesn't want you any less. He knows you'll always be there. It doesn't matter what happens between me and him, as long as he has you. And it's the same for you." She skimmed his bangs off his forehead and stroked her nails down the side of his face. "He'll always be yours, you know? I've looked at every thread, seen every way it could go, and you will always have him."

He swallowed tightly, his brow furrowed, and his eyes dropped to her stomach. "What about you?"

"In the end, we're all temporary."

He frowned. "I asked the wrong question."

"Or maybe I didn't like the answer."

He looked up at her. "You're not temporary, Darcy." He stared at her seriously, his mouth set in a line. "Not for me, not for him."

Darcy rubbed her thumb over his cheek. "You should try to get some sleep… You look tired."

He sighed at her, disappointed, but turned his head to lay his cheek against her stomach. Hugging his arm around her, he mumbled tiredly, "I'm gonna show you one day… how much you matter."

She didn't answer, rubbing her fingers down his neck until he fell asleep.

When she woke, it was with a sharp inhale, her fingers raising to find tears on her cheeks. Gritting her teeth, she turned over, pressed her face down into her pillow and wished she knew how to turn this whole thing  _off_.

* * *

"Yes, business has been fine. That's not what I want to talk to you about…" Darcy paced from one end of the kitchen to the other. "A long time ago, you showed up at my house, remember? And you told me that my fate was tied with these two soldiers. You told me not to run and we'll be a circle and all that jazz. Well, I found them. Or, okay, they found me, like you said. But the point is, how do I make it stop?"

Janine didn't answer right away, but after a pause, said, "Did you say you had  _two_ boys chasing after you? Oh, you lucky girl. What'd I tell you? Puberty is hard on everyone, but you grew into your own, just like a flower."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine, sure, but you're not hearing me. How do I make it stop?"

"Why would you wanna do a silly thing like that?"

" _Because_ … Look, I know you said it was a circle and yeah, I've seen that, it can work, but it works just fine without me. And you know how much I hate having my life set for me. So just, tell me how I untie us or whatever. Because these dreams are getting out of control and I need them to stop." She tugged at her hair in frustration.

"That's not how these things work, Darcy. The soul is a finicky thing. It ties itself to the people it deserves. You can't pull that thread."

"Can't? Or shouldn't?"

"They're one in the same," Janine said simply. "Even if you manage to skirt fate, how sure are you that the next path is better? Hm? How sure are you that you'll be happier elsewhere?"

"I can be happy on my own. I don't need them for that."

"If you're tied to them, it means you— and don't hate me for what I'm about to say, but— you  _complete_ them in some way. It's like yin and yang, only with a third part. A yong."

"You just made that up."

"Well, it fits, doesn't it?"

Darcy rolled her eyes. "I want it undone. I want to stop dreaming about them. I want him to stop projecting himself into my dreams. I want—"

"He's projecting to you?" she asked, her voice raising.

"Just one of them. He doesn't have powers, he's just… open to those kinds of things, I think." She waved a dismissive hand, despite the fact that her aunt couldn't see her. "That doesn't matter. What—"

"It  _does_ matter. Oh, this is wonderful. Do you know what this means?"

"I'm not motivated to find out," she muttered.

"Darcy, it's a soul bond." Janine gave a little squeal of excitement. "Oh, this is just too good. Do you know how often these come around? Not often enough, not in this realm anyway. Maybe in the other worlds, but not this one. They're so rare, Darcy. A  _real_  soul bond. This is fantastic. I can't wait to tell your mother."

"No, no, no, no no no nooo," she interrupted. "Listen to me! A) that is ridiculous; b) that is totally not fair; how can I be soul bonded with one and not the other; and c) what part of 'I am trying to make this stop?' are you not getting? Seriously, if anybody's soul bonded, it's those two. Trust me, they have an insane history to back it up. I've seen every path it can take and they're always together."

"Well, that's because they share a soul," she said matter of factly.

"No, back up, you  _just_ said—"

"I said there's a soul bond, meaning your souls are connected. As in, once upon a time, many, many centuries ago, you and he met, fell in love, and something happened. Something awful. One died, you both died, something terribly melodramatic. The point is, that there was a hiccup in Fate's plan. You died before you had a chance to fulfill that destiny, and now it's giving you another chance."

"That still doesn't explain—"

"His soul, the original  _Him_  that you were destined to be with, came back as two men; one light, one dark, they complement each other, you see? And that soul, shared between them, is bonded to yours. So when I say He's your soulbond, I mean both of them. It's just that one of them is capable of accessing that bond more than the other. The other could though. With practice and an open mind, he could connect with you just as the other does. If you let him."

Darcy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're more receptive to one than the other, for whatever reason. Maybe you trust him more or you don't think the other will care as much. But that's ridiculous. They're both yours, neither more than the other, just as you're theirs; you just happened to keep your soul in one body. It's probably why your powers are so strong."

Darcy could feel a headache coming on and rubbed her temples as she frowned. "Okay, let's say all of what you just said is true."

"I'd never lie about something like this."

"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes. "That still doesn't change anything. Listen, you're telling me that they  _share_ a soul. That—That is  _huge_. Way deeper than whatever they have going with me."

"No, that's not—"

"So how do I  _un -_ bond my soul from theirs?"

Janine sighed then, sounding truly disappointed in her. "You were always the difficult one. I told you mother you had taken on the stubborn spirit of a thousand mules, but she never believed me."

"That's really flattering, Aunty."

"Well, it's true if nothing else," she muttered. "Fine, if it's so important to you… I'll tell you how to un-bond. But a word of warning first… Fate does not like to be played with, Darcy… If it doesn't complete its destiny now, it'll find a way to do it later."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means that if you disrupt your own destiny, it needs to reroute your soul to try again."

"So, what? Fate is going to bump be off because it screwed up the first time around?" She scowled, throwing a hand up. "That's not fair!"

"Maybe not right away. If you're lucky, it might even let you live a long life, but… Soul bond's are eternal. You'll never find anyone to replace Him."

"Them," she corrected absently.

"You know what I mean," she dismissed.

"I can love whoever I want to love," Darcy argued.

"Of course you can. You can get married and have children and be content with someone else. But a part of you will always know it would've been happier with Him. That you were meant to be with Him."

"You don't understand… I don't  _fit_  with them. I'm an extra piece in the puzzle, not the one that finishes it."

"Is that what they think, or what  _you_  think?"

Darcy gritted her teeth, blinking rapidly against the sting of tears. "I will not tie myself to them only to be pushed away over and over again for my own safety, knowing that he doesn't need me, that if it came down to it, they would pick each other over me. And that's fine, okay? Good for them. Happily ever after for  _them_. But don't make me go through that.  _Please_."

There was a long pause before Janine hummed. "Okay. Okay, I'll help you. It'll take more than just you, though. It's not something you can do on your own."

"Sure. Fine." Darcy nodded, swiping at the stray tears on her cheeks. "When?"

"Next week. I can be there on… Thursday. Is that good for you?"

"It's great. I'll see you then."

"Okay. And Darcy…?" Janine said.

"Yeah?"

"You still have time, love, if you want to change your mind. If… you want to tell them what you know."

She shook her head. "I won't. Change my mind, I mean. I know what I'm doing."

"Okay. I'll see you soon. I love you."

"Love you too," Darcy said, biting her lip as it trembled before she hung up her phone.

She took a deep breath, standing in the middle of her kitchen, and closed her eyes.

It was a lot of information to process, but did she even want to?

By this time next week, it would be over.

No more soul bond.

No more dreams.

No more Bucky visiting for dinner.

No more future!Steve telling her she belonged.

None of it.

* * *

She was laughing, her head thrown back. He always made her laugh, kept her smiling, calling her 'doll' under his breath. "It's my job," he always told her, "to make sure you're always happy." She told him it wasn't, that he shouldn't take that on, but if she smiled, he smiled, and she wanted that for him. She wanted to see his eyes light up.

Bucky twirled her under his arm, spinning her around and around before he released her hand. She was loose and free for a few spins, her dress twisting around her legs, before she came to a stop, breathless, Steve's arms wrapped around her waist. It was a brief thought that ran through her head, fleeting but accurate, that he would always catch her.

He grinned down at her, breathless and flushed as she beamed back at him, and then he dipped her low, like he knew she loved, and brought her back up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You having fun?" he asked her.

"Are you kidding? There's a buffet, free alcohol, and a dance floor… This is heaven," she told him.

He chuckled low under his breath and nodded, stroking her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear, tapping one of her earrings to make it swing.

She felt Bucky's hand on her back just before his chin dropped to her shoulder, mouthing a soft kiss to her skin. She turned, one arm around Steve's waist and the other around Bucky's. "Dance with me," she told them, bringing them in close.

Their arms reached around each other, binding them together, and they moved across the floor, as a circle.

Darcy woke only to bury her head under her pillow, much like she buried it in the proverbial sand every day.

* * *

The weekends were usually her biggest time. Downtime meant good business, so she always extended her hours to get the best out of her day. While it was rare, she kept her door opened until seven just in case there were some stragglers who wanted to drop in. She was in the middle of making herself dinner when she heard the bell ring. Sighing to herself, she put her homemade pizza aside, wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked to the doorway, sliding the strings of beads aside. She pasted on a smile, but felt it freeze on her face when she found Steve Rogers standing in the main room, admiring the latest picture she'd put up.

It was a night landscape, swirls of stars and clouds intermixed, and in the center there were three bright spots that stood out a little more than the others.

"You like the stars?" he asked her, gaze still taking in the painting.

Darcy shrugged. "Sure. Who doesn't?"

"Can't see 'em too good out here. Too many lights," he said, shifting his feet. "When, uh, when I was overseas, fighting… There wasn't a whole lot to write home about, not anything good, you know? I was lucky, I had good men behind me, Bucky by my side, but… It adds up, the conditions you're in, things you have to do… the death toll…" He swallowed tightly, nodding to himself. "But sometimes, when the bombs would stop and the smoke would die down, you could just make out the stars. I used to think they were brighter somehow… Like maybe they were trying to make up for everything. Some kinda… guiding light or something. I don't know. Peggy… She used to say I was dramatic. Guess I can be."

She stared at his profile a moment before pushing off the doorjamb and walking over to join him, giving the picture a good look over herself. "You were in the middle of war, if there's a good time to enjoy the little things, it's then." She hugged her arms over her stomach. "I get them from a street artist. They're evocative, pull at the heart strings, and usually, they fit the people coming to visit me."

"All of them?"

"Sometime they fit the mood of the day, sometimes a specific person…" She paused for a moment before deciding to jump in with both feed. "The first time Bucky came to visit me, it was a painting of an old man standing in front of a mirror, except the image looking back at him was of himself when he was younger. Standard stuff, really. The interesting part was that the old man's hand, the one he reached for his younger self with, it was smooth, no liver spots, no veins, nothing…"

"Old but young in the same body," Steve murmured thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Well, that's our interpretation anyway. Maybe the artist just ran out of paint." She half-smiled, turning on her heel to walk away, moving to her table and taking a seat, one leg tucked up underneath her. "You have a question."

"You must get tired of telling people that." He turned to face her, classically handsome, a Mona Lisa smile in place.

"We all get tired of our jobs sometimes. Even you."

"Do I?" He raised an eyebrow and walked over to take a seat across from her.

"I don't need my powers to know that you've thought about retiring. You're just not sure where you'd fit into the world if you did… Plus you feel obligated now, to rebuild SHIELD since you pulled it apart." She watched the subtle play of emotions cross his face.

"What would I do, if I stopped working for them? If I just… hung up the shield." He stared at her searchingly.

She slid her hands across the table, palms up. He hesitated only a moment before placing his hands on top of hers, much larger and wider than her own, seeming to swamp them completely.

Darcy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She reached out with her mind, searching for the threads connected to him, and there were so many, bunches of them all collected together. She paused by the black and white threads, a whisper of curiosity brushing her mind.

"I could tell you what your life would have been like," she murmured, "If you'd never gone into the ice…"

"Married Peggy, missed Bucky, a see-saw of gratitude and grief," he answered her.

"If you're sure…"

"I am. I… I'm done living in my past. I just want to know what my future could be…"

She brushed the black and white threads away and stepped forward, seeking out the others. The blue threads led to his life as it was now, with various little paths that cut off in all directions, choices, decisions made in the moment. The yellow threads were what happened if he hung up the shield tomorrow, thanked the team for their help and set out to find a different life. She reached out and tugged on the thread.

The images hit her abruptly, opening like a floodgate of feeling, visions of moments barraging her. She sucked in air and focused, forcing them to slow down, to show her the how and not just the result.

"A road trip first, just you and him on the motorcycle, and a map with no exact destination picked out. You would ride all day, spend your nights in motel rooms. Stop at every diner that boasts they make the best eggs and bacon in the country… See every state, meet people all over, stop at all the museums you can find. You'll draw everything, scraps of paper filled with half-finished bits of inspiration. He'll be happy. He'll like the freedom to move as far as he wants for however long he wants. And you love that, you love seeing him re-experience the world." Swallowing tightly, she stared at the silently laughing figure of Bucky, and whispered, "He's so  _happy_ …"

A few moments passed before he squeezed her hands. "What else?"

She focused again, shifting past the road trip. "You settle down in a small town for a while, try to make it home, but you miss Brooklyn, so you go back, and it feels right. And then the world changes, needs help again, and Stark wants to get the band back together… You say you don't want to, but you're restless. Bucky spends a lot of his time at the gun range and working out because he feels it too, that itch in his bones, the need to get out there and  _do_ something. So you talk about it, tell Stark you'll come back for one last fight, but not alone. Stark agrees and the Avengers take on the latest threat. They win, but not without casualties and injuries. The devastation is huge, and you feel guilty, wondering if maybe if you'd just stuck around, things could have been different, you could have helped to control things before the threat reached that degree… So you sign back up to do what you can… You always do. It's who you are. Who you  _both_ are."

"So that's it? There's no leaving, not really?"

"No, there is one thread… One where you die, or, well, it looks like you did, and Bucky takes up the shield to keep your memory alive. When you come back, you decide he's better off with the shield and you go into politics to change things another way." She opened her eyes then and stared at him. "There are always options, different paths, but some lead right back to where you were going anyway, and others lead places you don't want to go."

"And if I stay?" he asked, staring at her searchingly. "What then?"

"No love for a good mystery, Rogers?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his hands flat to her palms. "Please."

Darcy hummed, but closed her eyes, sending herself back in. She bypassed the black and white threads and the yellow threads and reached out for the blue, wrapping her hand around them and tugging.

The onslaught wasn't the same this time. Instead, it started like an old reel of film, struggling to focus before tuning in to an apartment she recognized from her dreams.

Steve and Bucky, embracing when he came home. And then the images hit fast-forward. Days and nights spent together, in bed, in the gym, the shower, the strategy room, talking, laughing, working out, reaching for each other, leaning on one another, taking comfort, sharing friendship, love, intimacy. And some days were bad, some days Steve came home from work or a mission and he was tired, snappish, frustrated. Sometimes he reached for Bucky and sometimes he didn't, trying to take the pressure on individually. And sometimes Bucky lingered in doors or behind the couch, wanting to help, but not sure how. There were fights and making up and nights where all they did was hold each other. There were hands outstretched for each, fingers tangled, holding on tight, afraid to let go.

He stayed with the Avengers for the rest of his life, outliving many of his teammates, inviting new faces to the team, mourning the loss of others. He grew old, left behind a legacy, accumulated far too many mental scars, wounds, and broken bones than any one person should. But he was happy. Some days were hard, draining, they brought him to his knees, but when he went home, he reached for the man beside him and it made it better, made it easier. And then he turned, and he reached for her, and—

The vision split in three directions abruptly and Darcy's breath caught in her throat as she stared down three threads, one blue, one white, and one a violent purple-red, trembling with intensity, sparking like a livewire.

Down the blue thread was him and Bucky, their life together, just as it was now. The white thread included her, it was all the visions she'd had so far, the soul bond finally meeting its destiny. But the red one… Her hand trembled as she reached for it, hesitating before she let her fingers twine around it and carefully, uncertainly, pulled at it.

The images hit her with such intensity that she couldn't breathe. She could only watch as they opened up around her, a tornado of terrifying clarity. Blood. There was so much blood. And skin, pale as milk, split open, three holes burrowed through the stomach and right out the back, and a fourth center to the forehead. She stared at her hands, wet with blood, dripping with it, and a scream welled up in her throat.

Darcy leapt up, ripping her hands away from his, and stumbled backwards, until she hit the wall, her eyes darting wildly, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Darcy? Hey, hey, look at me, take a breath… Come on, look at me…"

She raised her eyes up to meet his as he knelt in front of her. When had she slid down to the floor? He was touching her, his hands on her face, holding her steady, but she was drained, thankfully. No images hit her now, leaving her to wallow only in the ones she'd already seen.

He swiped at her tears with his thumbs. "You all right?"

She was panting a little as she nodded, reaching up to pull his hand from her face. "Fine. I'm fine."

He stared at her, concern written in the furrow of his brow. "Are you sure? You don't want me to call someone or…?"

She swallowed thickly and shook her head. "No. No, I'm fine." She pushed up, her knees shaky beneath her, and stepped out of his reach, moving back to her table, leaning on the chair for balance. She let her hair fall over her shoulder to shroud her face for a moment as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I can tell you what I saw…"

"You did. You were talking the whole time… You don't remember?"

She shook her head. "No, I… It gets away from me sometimes."

"You stopped. You said there were three paths I could take, but then… you just stopped. Froze up."

Darcy nodded. "The blue path, that's the one you want. Life-long career in heroics and you'll have him with you from beginning to end. You want my advice, that's it."

Silence greeted her, but she didn't mind, willing her body to stop shaking so much.

"He says your name sometimes… when he's sleeping."

Darcy's eyes opened abruptly, her lips turned down in a frown. "Maybe he's been reading Pride and Prejudice," she snarked.

"I know he comes to see you sometimes. He feels… comfortable around you. It's good, he needs that."

"If this is going to turn into some really awkward 'stay away from my man' speech, please, save it, I'm not here to take him away from you."

He let out a faint laugh. "Yeah, well, I'm starting to think it's not as simple as that… In fact, I'm pretty sure it's a lot more complicated than I understand."

Darcy shook her head. "There are no complications. You will spend a blissful, happy life together. I've seen it."

"Just us?"

She paused, turning her head to look at him curiously.

His brow was furrowed thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about it. A lot, actually. About the things you've said, the circle and about this mysterious 'her.' And now, with Bucky dreaming of you and visiting you, it's starting to make a lot of sense."

"Whatever you think you know—"

"Where does the white thread lead?" he wondered, staring at her searchingly. "Because I'm willing to bet it goes somewhere good,  _better_ than the blue one. And I don't know why you're hesitating or why you're so adamant that you're not a threat, unless you're supposed to be a part of this, of us, and it's scaring you, for some reason. Maybe it's what you saw, something that happens. But Darcy, you said yourself that nothing is set in stone. So if you see something, if something has to happen or change for it to work out in the end, we can do that. Just tell me what it is. Tell me  _everything_. Because I feel like I'm the only one in the dark anymore. I mean, you've got Natasha visiting you every other day, Bucky talks about you all the time, and I'm standing over here trying to figure out why and how, so just… throw me a bone."

She stared at him a long moment and then cast her eyes past his shoulder, to the strings of beads that were gently moving from the breeze coming in through her open balcony door. She swallowed tightly and turned her head away. "Fate is just a cold-hearted bitch, that's it, end scene, roll credits." Pushing off the chair, she turned to face him. "Go home, be with him, love him, make him happy. Follow the blue thread."

She stepped past him then and moved to the door.

His voice chased after her. "What happens to  _you?_ "

Darcy blinked back a tear and said. "I follow the red."

She didn't bother explaining herself as she slipped away, crossing her kitchen to her now cold pizza.

It was a few minutes later that she heard the bell ring, signalling he'd left. Darcy gathered her food and walked down the hallway to her bedroom. She stared at the open slot of her balcony door and then she reached forward, pulling it open, and stepped outside, taking in a deep breath before she sat down in the chair waiting for her. Fresh flowers met her nose, night slowly falling, blanketing the city. A faint meow caught her ear before the neighbor's cat tottered over to visit.

She scratched her behind the ear and took up a slice of pizza as she leaned back and turned her eyes up, searching the sky for any sign of the stars.

* * *

She waited until they were sleeping, Steve at her back and Bucky at her front, arms and legs all tangled until she wasn't sure who was who. She waited until their breathing evened out, until the steady play of Steve's breath on her neck told her he was sleeping and the gentle whir of Bucky's arm promised he too had finally drifted off.

It was usually about this time that she slid out from their arms, gathered her clothes, and left their apartment. And she would, soon, in just another minute or so. But it felt nice, sandwiched between them, the warmth and comfort of their presence had long become so familiar that she missed it when it was gone.

So she lingered, promising herself she would only stay another minute or five.

And time ticked by as she was lulled by the gentle pattern of their breathing and the absent flex of Bucky's fingers on her hip.

It was only when she noticed the room beginning to brighten that she knew she had to go. She'd stayed too long.

So she slipped carefully from their arms, fully aware of just how much they had to trust her that they didn't even stir. She pressed a kiss to Steve's shoulder and another to Bucky's temple, and then she tip-toed to the door, already pulling her dress on over her head. She looked back, watching as their hands shifted forward on the mattress, across the divide left by her absent body, and then found each other, just as they always would.

"I love you," she whispered, met with the silence she always expected.

She turned on her heel and walked away, telling herself this would be the last time.

_She lied._

Darcy woke, frowning into the darkness of the room, and gave an irritated grunt at herself before turning over, pulling her blanket up high to battle the chilly breeze coming from her door. With a sigh, she went back to sleep, hoping she'd dream of something that didn't hurt so much.

* * *

Darcy was humming to herself, rocking her hips to the cleaning playlist she had set up on her iPod. Dinner had been wrapped up and put away and she was just finishing up the dishes when she heard the rustle of the beads by her bedroom door. She went still, a chill spinning down her spine, and her hands tensed, gripping the knife beneath the soapy water tightly. Her heartbeat sped up, hammering in her chest, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and turned.

He stood in the middle of her kitchen, his head bowed, hair hanging in greasy strings around his face, a scraggly beard left to grow out. When he raised his eyes, they were bloodshot, heavy with dark bags beneath them, and his cheeks were far gaunter than she remembered from what was just a few months ago. He stared at her, his shoulders slumped, and then he took a lunging step forward.

"It's your fault," he croaked. "It's all your fault. Everything… it got so messed up after I came to you… My whole life. It was supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to tell me how to make it better. But you  _lied_. You told me I would be rich, I would have a wife, kids, I'd be  _happy_ …"

"I told you that everything good comes with work," Darcy told him, her voice barely above a shaky whisper. "I told you if you didn't change, it didn't matter what path you took, you'd never be happy with your life."

"That's bullshit!" He raised his arm then, gun held in his shaking hand. "You have to fix it."

Darcy looked from him to the gun. "That's not how it works, Jeremiah."

"I quit my job, 'cause you told me I'd get another one, one that'd make me rich. And now I have  _nothing_!"

Swallowing tightly, she shook her head. "I told you a job opportunity would come up. I didn't tell you to quit your job."

"Don't play your word games," he yelled, waving the gun at her angrily. "Do a spell or use your powers or whatever it is you do, but change it. This is not my life. I was meant for more than this." He let out a strangled noise then, his teeth grinding. "I never should'a come to you. You  _did_ this. All of this. You never liked me! I could tell, from the first moment we met. You were lookin' down on me, some pathetic loser who can't do it on his own. I worked my whole goddamn life for somethin' good and I never got it. Now that's gonna change. You're gonna give me the life I deserve, you hear me?  _Huh?_ "

Darcy slowly slid one hand out of the water and raised it up in a soothing manner, but kept the other around the knife. "Jeremiah, you need to listen to me…"

"No. No, I listened to you before…" His eyes started darting around. "It's  _you_. As long as you're here, you gonna keep doing it. Fucking with my life. Making it all wrong. It's  _you_." He nodded jerkily then, licking his lips, and turned to focus on her, his eyes wild. "You're the problem."

"Jerem—"

He shook his head and squeezed his finger around the trigger; one, two, three shots hit her square in the belly.

Darcy stumbled backwards, hit the fridge, and slid to the floor. The knife she'd been holding clattered from her fingers and fell to the floor in a puddle of soapy water.

"See? See, I knew it. You always had it out for me," he said, motioning to the knife with his gun. He loped away and then came stomping back toward her. He wiped a hand over his mouth and stared down at her.

Her hands were pressed over her stomach, trying and failing to staunch the flow of blood. She choked, closing her eyes for a moment as tears burned them. They slipped out the corners and spilled down her cheeks. When she opened them again, the barrel of Jeremiah's gun was pointed at her forehead.

"Gotta finish it, gotta break the spell," he muttered.

_If you disrupt your own destiny, it needs to reroute your soul to try again._

Darcy inhaled deeply through her nose and tipped her head back, glaring at the man in front of her.

"Fuck Fate," she snarled.

_Snap. Bang._

"No!" Bucky lurched forward in his bed, his chest heaving and his eyes wide, sweat soaking his skin.

Steve stirred beside him. "Buck?"

Reaching up with trembling hands, Bucky brushed his hair back from his face, sucking in air shakily. "She was just… He… He shot her. She… She was bleeding everywhere. I gotta…" He shook his head, shifting on the bed, shoving the sheet off as he swung his legs over and grabbed his jeans up from the floor.

"Bucky, what're you doing?"

"He hurt her. He… I can't… I need her, Steve. I  _need_ her."

"Okay, all right, hey, it was just a dream." Steve pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing at his face.

"It's not a dream," Bucky snapped at him. "I-It's memories or visions or—It's real. It's all real. And I don't know when it's gonna happen, but she… He killed her. He…  _Oh God._ " He let out a strangled noise and dug the heels of his palms into his hands. "I can't lose her. Please. We can't lose her."

"Bucky…" Steve's hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I gotta go. We gotta go get her. She's not safe." His eyes were darting around wildly before he pushed off the bed, grabbing a shirt as he moved and hurrying out of the room. He was pulling on his shoes when Steve joined him, jacket half on.

Steve half-smiled at him reassuringly and held up his keys. "I'll drive, all right?"

Bucky's gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's fine. I get it. She… means something to you."

Bucky's brow furrowed before he lifted his head and stared at Steve seriously. "She's gonna mean something to you, too. You don't know it yet, you haven't seen it, but when it happens…" He frowned, unsure how to explain it, and finally just turned, reaching for the door handle. As he walked out, he called back to him, as if it made perfect sense, "She's the yong."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was totally not supposed to be a thing that happened. I was pretty content with this being a oneshot, but then somebody mentioned how cool it would be for Darcy to meet the other team members, and I got excited for a Natasha/Darcy friendship, and then this happened. So, well, I hope you liked it.
> 
> thank so much for reading. please leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
> 
> \- **lee | fina**


	3. arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : [[collection](http://www.polyvore.com/whats_in_fortune_telling_is/collection?id=3820851)]  
>  **Darcy** : [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_3a/set?id=131690103)] | [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_3b/set?id=132042563)] | [[3](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_3c/set?id=132042360)]  
>  **Natasha** : [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/fortune_natasha_3a/set?id=132215982)]

**III**.

The drive to Darcy's shop was spent in tense silence. Bucky stared out the window, his body completely still even as nervous energy rushed through him, searching for any kind of outlet. He replayed his dream in his head on repeat, the sound of the gun, of her voice, the clatter of the knife on the floor, out of reach. He closed his eyes, brow furrowed tightly, and dragged his hand over his forehead.

What would he do? he wondered. What would he do if they got there and she was just... gone? What  _could_ he do? Worry stung his eyes and fear crawled up his throat. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't. Not her or Steve. They were all he had.

It was his job. His  _job_ to protect her. To make her  _happy_. He'd told her that, so many times, and she always argued. Told him it wasn't, that he shouldn't take that onto himself. But he knew what his future looked like, he knew how much it meant to him that he  _could_ make her happy. That even after everything he'd done, after who he  _was_ , he could still be good enough for her. Someone untouched by all the blood and death and bitterness the world had to offer. He could keep her safe and happy. That was a mission he  _wanted_  to take.

When they pulled up outside of her building, he didn't bother waiting, shoving the door open and immediately jogging down the sidewalk to the alley, making his way down and around to the back of her apartment. He found her balcony, with its many plants, green arms reaching in all directions, and the chair she sat in each morning, drinking her coffee, the neighbour's cat now curled up on the soft cushion. He hopped down, vaguely hearing Steve following at his heels.

The sliding glass door leading into her bedroom was open a few inches. He cursed under his breath, gnashing his teeth angrily, and tore it open to step inside.

Steve wasn't so eager to barge in unannounced. "Bucky—"

He didn't bother explaining that he used that same entrance to visit her all the time; that she'd gotten used to it. Instead, a low pit of worry and guilt gnawed at his belly. He was the reason she kept the door open. She said he wasn't, but he knew she was lying. Because as much as she argued that she didn't want this, didn't want  _them_ , he knew different. He knew her better than he knew himself. And yeah, sure, that wasn't the best endorsement considering how much he was struggling to figure himself out these last seven months, but it still mattered.

He knew her favourite colour and food and book and song. He knew the names of every playlist in her iPod, now and years down the line. He knew that her ribs and feet were ticklish and touching either would make her shriek and squirm. He knew that every single one of her rings had significance to her and that she wore each depending on her mood that day. He knew what her hair smelled like and why her favourite perfume was her favourite (it reminded her of her grandmother). He knew what it felt to have her body arch up against him, to feel her hair tumble against his skin, the taste of her mouth against his, slow and sipping. And yeah, a lot of that was just in his head, it was memories and visions, but there was real stuff too, conversations shared over meals and dreams that he knew she was having too. 'Cause he could feel her, real and solid, and when he woke up, his hands missed her skin and her hair and her fingers tangled in the spaces between his.

He knew her. And he didn't care how wild it was, how strange the situation they found themselves in was, he knew he was gonna love her. If he didn't already, he would one day, and it'd be soon.

So when he stepped over the threshold of the balcony door and found her bed empty, his heart lurched up into his throat. He didn't bother being quiet or sneaking through the shadows like he usually did. He tore through her bedroom and toward the beads hanging over the arch at the end of the hallway. A light was on and the faint strains of her iPod reached him, curdling his stomach. He felt bile bite at his throat, cold fear settling deep in his bones. He reached out with a shaking hand and brushed the beads aside before he stepped through, pausing for a moment, not sure he should look. Not sure he could handle turning his head and finding out he was too late.

He'd planned on visiting her that afternoon, but he'd gotten busy. He was gonna stop in and see what she was making for dinner. He did that. Sometimes he just missed her, like there was this open space in the apartment that she should be filling but wasn't. So he skipped out on working over the weight bag and snuck out of the Tower, crossing town and sneaking in through the back door. He liked watching her when she cooked. She danced sometimes and sang along to each song, her eyes closed and the lyrics long memorized. She was beautiful and soft and so innocent he wondered why the hell the universe would wanna burden her with him.  _Them_. 'Cause Steve was good, God he was  _so_ good, but he was broken too. He had his problems and his nightmares and his triggers that he tried so hard to keep under wraps. And here she was, light and airy and full of so much goddamn love. And he knew it. He knew she was gonna be everything they could ever want or need, but she was so stubborn. That way she got her chin set and raised it up, all defiant-like, ready to take on Fate or Destiny or whoever the fuck thought they could write her future for her. And he loved it, he did, even if he wanted her to just give in, just give 'em a chance. He still loved that fire in her. Like a moth that couldn't stay away from a bulb, he reached his hand out, knowing he'd probably get burned and welcoming it anyway. Just for a chance, just for the hope that she might reach out too.

"You plan on standing there all night, or you want some of this cake? It's not one of my best, but it's chocolate, and you can't go wrong with chocolate."

Air rushed out of him abruptly, relief stabbing him so completely that his knees shook under him. He turned his head, searching her out, and found her leaning back against the stove, one ankle tucked behind the other, a plate with a chocolate cake on it at her elbow.

He crossed the room to her in what seemed like just three long, loping, strides, and then he had her in his arms, lifted up off the floor, his face buried in her neck. "Christ," he choked out, closing his eyes tightly as he burrowed himself a little deeper against her. "Thought I lost you."

She wrapped her arms around him, one hand at the nape of his neck, fingers buried in his hair. "Hey... What happened?" she wondered quietly. She squeezed him a little tighter, her hand rubbing down his back. "You're shaking."

He clenched his teeth against the strangled noise in his throat and ran his hands up and down her back and over her shoulders, just trying to prove to himself that it was okay,  _she_ was okay.

"He had a nightmare," Steve's voice reached across the room, seeming so far away.

And for a second, Bucky was confused. Why was he all the way over there? Why wasn't he with them, at Darcy's back? But he knew the answer, even if he didn't like it. Steve had only met Darcy a couple times; he wasn't emotionally tied to her. He listened sometimes, when Bucky told him about his dreams, the three of them together, in bed, out of bed, just  _together_. He knew Steve wasn't unmoved by it; Bucky could feel how hard Steve got at the mention of Darcy, of her between the two of them, her body as familiar to them as each others were. But Steve didn't get the dreams he did, he didn't visit her like Bucky did, so as far as Steve was concerned, it was just a fantasy.

"You were hurt. He needed to see for himself that you were okay."

Darcy stiffened for a moment and then relaxed abruptly. "I'm fine.  _Hey_ …" She leaned back as far as he would let her, turning her head down to see him. "Look at me."

Bucky shook his head, clutching at the thin fabric of the tank top she was wearing, his eyes squeezed closed tightly.

Her hand skimmed down, rubbing over his cheek, her thumb stroking the arch delicately. "You remember the diner? Huh? I got the blueberry pancakes and you got the chocolate chip waffles. And they were endless, for some stupid reason, and you just kept asking for more... I think you set a world record for how many waffles one person could put away in a sitting."

He nodded faintly. He remembered that vision. They were on a road trip of sorts. He was driving out to pick up Steve from an unlisted operations base. Darcy had tagged along, wanting to get out for a while, and he had a habit of giving into her, even when he probably shouldn't. So they spent two days on the road, only eating at 24-hour breakfast diners and tallying them up in a book for which ones were the best so they could make sure Steve tried them on the drive home.

Darcy's fingers lightly dragged around Bucky's ear, stroking his hair. "And that gala, where I wore that  _awful_ yellow dress, and you called me Buttercup all night, because you're an old man and think that's funny."

"Was funny," he muttered.

She hummed. "And the pool… You remember the pool?"

His eyes opened slowly, raising up to meet hers. "Could never forget the pool," he said, his voice low and deep. He stared up at her face, her cheeks a little flushed and her hair mussed from sleep. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," she murmured back. She rubbed her knuckles down the line of his jaw. "You okay?"

He blinked back the images all too eager to screw him up again.

She flinched, like she saw them too, and he realized, with her touching him, she might have.

He frowned. "You saw that?"

Darcy bit her lip. "More than once…" Her eyes darted away for a moment, not quite landing on Steve but turning in his direction. "It's complicated."

"Complicated like it could actually happen." Bucky stood upright then, his eyes darting over her face. "That can't happen.  _Darcy_. I saw us, all of us, and you— you were  _fine_. Okay?" He tried to smile, but his mouth trembled. "Tell me you're gonna be fine."

She swallowed thickly and licked her lips. "Nothing is set in stone."

" _Don't_ … say that," he grunted, frowning as he shook his head. "We are. You and me and him."

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head minutely. "There are paths. Threads.  _Choices_. There's always a  _choice_."

"Yeah, well I choose you don't get shot dead in your fucking apartment," he snapped, reaching up to thrust a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, Darcy, you just… you  _died_. You get that? You were  _gone_."

"I know."

He stared down at her. " _Do_  you? Because if you saw it, then what the hell are you doing? What're you still doing here, in this apartment, with your goddamn door open, huh?" His voice was raising, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't help the very real fear and anger that was twisting itself together.

"I told you, it's complicated. And that— that won't happen for…  _months_ , at least. I just saw Jeremiah the other day. In the vision, it's been months, half a year, at least."

"So what, you were just gonna wait around for him to come and blow your brains out?" His eyes narrowed incredulously. "Spend your last six months telling people what great lives _they_  were gonna have, while you got buried six feet under? What the hell kind of plan is that?"

"It wasn't my  _plan_. I just… I'm figuring things out, all right!" she exclaimed. "It's not like there's a how-to guide on what to do when you know someone's coming to kill you."

"You don't stick around in the place they plan on doing it. That's step one." Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he started pacing from one side of the kitchen to the other, his mind jumping all over the place. "You can't stay here. You can't… You're a sitting duck."

Darcy shook her head, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm not leaving my home, my  _job_ , just because some asshole didn't like what I saw. That's not how I operate. I—"

"You bled out right there." He pointed at the fridge. "Three shots to the stomach and then he put that gun to your head. There's no walking away from that." He stared at her, his eyes wide, and shook his head.

She frowned up at him and gave an angry huff.

Licking his lips, he reached for her, his hands sliding over her ribs and tugging her toward him. He bent then, pressing his forehead to hers. "Let me help you… Darce.  _Please_. Just… just come home with us tonight, all right? And tomorrow… we'll figure the rest out tomorrow."

"It'll be  _months_  before—"

"Darcy," he choked out. He stared into her eyes searchingly, silently pleading.

Her shoulders slumped and a sigh left her. "All right. Fine. But… I'm staying on the couch. Either that or I'm bunking at Natasha's."

"Fine. Sure." He nodded and leaned back, pressing a kiss to her brow and the tip of her nose, and then he smiled, relieved. "Get your stuff, all right?"

"You know, I think I liked you better when you barely talked and didn't order me around so much," she told him, but stepped out of his arms and started toward the doorway. "And we're bringing the cake."

"Like I'd pass up on chocolate cake," he answered, smiling faintly.

He watched her go, and listened as she started pulling open drawers on her dresser. With a heavy sigh, he fell back against the fridge and slid down to the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. It took him a few seconds, staring at his hands, the right one still trembling. He folded his fingers in and squeezed them into fists, the metal of his bionic hand straining a little under the pressure.

Steve stepped up then, a silent observer, and knelt down in front of him, staring at Bucky, his brow furrowed and a thoughtful look to the purse of his lips. "There's a lot we need to talk about."

Bucky stared up at him, suddenly feeling exhausted. "It's not… what you think."

Steve's mouth ticked up at the corner. "I think your dreams are a lot more than dreams and I think when she says it's complicated, that's not even scratching the surface."

"She's important." He stared at him meaningfully. "I don't know how to explain it. It just started happening and it… it made sense. For me, not a lot does lately. I've got you and her and that's all I need. I know that doesn't make sense where you're standing, but I don't… I don't know how to explain it."

The beads rustled then and they both looked over to find Darcy waiting, a duffle bag over her arm. "Let's be clear… I only have enough stuff in here for a day, two tops, so don't get ahead of yourselves."

Bucky nodded and pushed himself up from the floor. "You lock the back?"

"Yes," she said, digging her keys out. "And, for the record, I've been getting better at closing it, I just… needed some fresh air. Which was why I was up so late." She handed him her bag then and walked past him, moving toward the stove to fold the saran wrap over the cake again. She picked it up and turned, eyeing Steve. "Sorry you were dragged out of bed."

He shook his head, staring at her curiously. "It's fine. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Completely," she said, tipping her chin up before she moved past both of them, pausing to turn off and collect her iPod before she stepped through the bead door leading into her main room.

Bucky followed after her with Steve taking up the rear. As Darcy was unlocking the door, Bucky joined her. "Walk in the middle," he told her, stepping through the open door as the bell jangled above.

"I'd salute you if I didn't think I'd accidentally drop this cake," she muttered.

"Snark all you want, as long as you stay between us."

"Is he always this bossy?" Darcy wondered, turning her head back to Steve as she reached past him to lock up the front.

"You tell me. You two seem to know each other pretty well," he answered.

She frowned. "It's not like that. We're not… anything."

Both Bucky and Steve snorted and Darcy rolled her eyes. "Are we leaving or do I have time to change my mind about this?"

Bucky started forward, glancing both ways down the sidewalk and quickly taking in any vantage points someone could have.

"He's a white collar worker bee, Bucky, not a trained assassin," she told him.

"Rather be safe than dead," he muttered, but started down the road toward the SUV they'd driven over in. He opened the back door as Steve used the control on the key to unlock it, and ushered Darcy into the back seat. "Sit in the middle."

She glared at him, but shuffled herself into the middle seat, cake on her lap, and he put her bag down beside her. "I'm only doing this because I know how worried you were."

He stared at her a long moment, his arm braced against the door. "I was. I still am." His eyes darted over her, pausing on her stomach. "I don't care what it takes… I won't let that happen."

Darcy bit her lip and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "We'll talk about it later. Okay? It's late and you're worried and tired and—"

"And it's complicated."

"Yeah," she said softly. "It is."

"Okay." He reached for the door. "We'll talk tomorrow."

She didn't reply, but tipped her chin down a little.

"I mean it, Darcy. No running away or cryptic answers or any of that shit, all right?"

She sighed, leaning back in her seat.

He took it for as much compliance as she had in her to give and closed the door. He looked at Steve, waiting a few feet away, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. "She explains it better than I do."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you even know everything that's happening."

Bucky shrugged. "I know enough."

Just as he moved to walk past him, Steve caught his arm and stared at him a long moment before casting his gaze past him, toward the truck. "Are you sure about this…? About her?"

Bucky swallowed thickly. "Yeah. I am."

Steve turned back to him, searched his face, and finally, nodded. "Okay."

They separated, climbing into the SUV then, and the ride to the tower was spent in heavy silence.

* * *

The apartment was much like she remembered it, though missing her own personal touch, which became more obvious depending how far into the future each vision she had took place. Both Steve and Bucky were clean, orderly, and it showed in their apartment, but in the same vein it lacked personality. Not because neither of them had personality to spare, but because they hadn't quite made their apartment their home yet. In the way that her apartment was completely and utterly her, every facet shown in the knickknacks and pictures, Steve and Bucky's were empty beige walls and comfortable but nondescript furniture.

"Your place makes my place look cluttered," she said as she placed the cake plate on the counter in the kitchen.

"Your place  _is_ cluttered," Bucky told her, shrugging at her glare. "It's small."

"It's comfortable," she argued.

"It's the size of a matchbox."

"It'd be bigger if the front room wasn't all work space," Steve mentioned, carrying her duffel bag over to the couch.

"Okay, a) I happen to love the home/work combo I have going. Saves me time in the mornings. And b), you guys literally live in the same building you work, so you can keep your judgy finger-pointing to yourself."

Steve held his hand up in surrender. "Not judging, just... stating facts. And, since I'm doing that, I could point out that living where we work is different for us given the amount of security it offers. Whereas you have no security between you and any of your customers."

"I have a taser, illegally kept or not. And, for the most part, I don't get too many violent customers. Angry ones, sure. Not everybody likes what I have to say, but they're not usually violent." She shrugged. "Bad eggs. What can you do?"

"Not invite them into your home, for one," Bucky muttered, grabbing out plates from the cupboard along with three forks and a knife. "You want milk with yours, Darce?"

She nodded, taking the saran wrap off the cake, and then turned to Steve. "I can admit it's not the safest set up, but New York isn't cheap and paying for office space along with an apartment would bankrupt me."

"Better—"

"Bankrupt than dead, yeah, I'm getting the trend," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"So if you know who it was... Isn't there something you can do?" Steve wondered.

"One of the downsides to my job is that the cops don't generally take me seriously. Besides, they can't really arrest someone who hasn't done anything."

Steve's lips pursed. "Good point." He stared at her and then over to Bucky, who'd put a hand to her hip and nudged her out of the way so he could cut the cake for them. "Buck said you were shot in the... dream."

"Four times," Bucky said, his voice deeper, strained. He served out a large slice of cake for him and Steve and a marginally smaller one for Darcy.

"Well, if you're going to shoot someone, go big or go home," Darcy murmured.

Bucky's teeth ground together.

Darcy looked over at him and reached up, rubbing a hand over his bionic arm soothingly. "It hasn't happened."

"But you think it will," Steve said, drawing her attention back to him.

She stared at him searchingly, his expression hard and serious. "Like I've always said, there are choices, paths that people can walk down... Right now, this is the path that Jeremiah's walking... Or it will be." She frowned, sighing as she rubbed her hands over her face. "It's complicated. See, he has to make choices, but so do I. And they affect each other, eventually culminating in, well..." She made a gun with her fingers and mocked shooting herself.

Bucky gathered up the plates of cake and walked toward the dining room table, setting Darcy's down in the middle on purpose.

She sighed, allowing it, and brought two of the three glasses of milk with her as she joined him, taking her seat between them.

"Why is Bucky seeing them?" Steve wondered, glancing at Bucky. "He's never had visions before."

Darcy swallowed. These were questions he wasn't supposed to ask yet, things they weren't supposed to discuss for a while. Which meant that things were changing, certain events that she'd seen, conversations they would have, wouldn't happen. As much as she'd already been planning for that, she still felt a well of regret in her stomach. "I think, after what they did to him... his mind is more receptive. The experiments and erasing him, whatever they did, it just sort of... It opened that channel." Fine, so technically that was a lie, but they'd also said they would be discussing things  _tomorrow_ , and yet, here they were.

"But only to you." Steve was staring at her, his gaze more than a little scrutinizing.

"I don't know. You'd have to ask him that," she answered.

Bucky was staring down at his untouched cake, but he looked up when they both turned to him. Looking between them, he nodded. "Yeah, just her. And it's not just visions. I can... I don't know. It's like I'm visiting her, like it's a dream but we both know it, so we can still talk like we would if I was right in front of her." He turned, staring at her, his gaze much softer, washing over her face with reverence.

Darcy swallowed tightly, tearing her eyes off him and turning them down to her cake. She cut off a bite with the edge of her fork and filled her mouth, half in an effort to distract herself and half in hopes that it would keep Steve from asking anymore questions.

"You said you'd seen it..." Steve said. "What happened with this...  _Jeremiah_. You saw it before."

She slowed her chewing and licked her lips, nodding jerkily.

"When?"

She turned to look at him, and it wasn't difficult to see that he  _knew_. He knew it was when he'd visited and she'd touched him. He knew that he was tied to it. But saying it out loud would mean more questions, more explaining, it would mean telling them what Jemma said and that she planned on breaking the connection, basically  _causing_ what happened with Jeremiah by choosing to disrupt destiny.

"It was the red thread," Steve said, his voice low as his eyes darted over her face, searching for a sign that he was right.

"What's the red thread?" Bucky wondered, his brow furrowed.

"It's nothing," she said.

"I went to see her," Steve told him, though his eyes never left her face. "I wanted to know how you two knew each other, why Natasha was spending so much time visiting her... She did a reading, answered a question for me, but when she did... She found something. She said there were three ways things could go. In the blue thread, it was just you and me, in the white one, it was you, me and someone else. And then there was the red thread... But when she touched it, she broke down, started crying. And when I asked her why, if she was okay, she told me to follow the blue thread, that I'd be happiest there." He leaned back in his chair, watching her a long moment. "But you saw him kill you, didn't you? And there's something I can do, something you won't let me do, that will keep it from happening."

Darcy gripped her fork tightly.

"That true?" Bucky wondered.

She looked over at him, her heart twisting as she saw the wounded look on his face.

"Can he help you?" he asked, searching her face. "You just let him kill you? You just…" He ground his teeth. "You'd go that far? You'd let yourself get hurt just so you didn't have to be with..." His breath left him shakily, before he shoved up from the table.

"Bucky," she murmured, shaking her head.

"It's late. 'm tired..." He stepped away from the table. "Gonna get some sleep."

As he walked away, Darcy stared at his empty seat for a long few seconds, and then she turned to Steve. "You wanna guilt trip me some more, or are you done for the night?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I'm trying to get you to be honest with me, with  _both_ of us. Because you're hiding something. Something that affects all of us. And I won't let him be hurt anymore." Steve stood then, leaving his own cake behind, and followed after Bucky to their bedroom.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Darcy squeezed them shut to keep back the sting of tears. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she breathed in deep through her nose and tried to keep herself from crying, even as her shoulders shook and her chest vibrated with the need to let out a struggling sob. She shook her head and kept breathing, inhaling through her nose and blowing it out through her lips.

She wasn't trying to hurt him, either of them, but staying with them... Falling in love with them and never quite fitting, always feeling like she was the lopsided part of a triangle, that Steve was only accepting her because of Bucky... She couldn't do that. She  _wouldn't_ do that. And Bucky would be okay. God, he  _would_. She knew he would. He would still have Steve. Steve would keep him together and help him move on and eventually the memories would just fade, become a tiny part of his life that he hardly even thought about anymore.

He would have the love of his life. What did he need with her?

* * *

Steve woke to find the bed empty, a moment of panic trickling down his spine before he remembered who else was in the apartment. With a sigh, he blinked himself awake and left his bed, silently walking down the hallway to see for himself.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. For them to be intimately coiled around each other on the couch, Bucky forgiving her for whatever she was hiding from them and just happy he could hold her. What he found instead was Darcy on the couch alone, changed into a pair of purple shorts and a grey t-shirt, a blanket over her legs. She was fast asleep, a faint snore leaving her, her face half-buried in a pillow.

Bucky was in the arm chair across from her, his cheek braced on an upturned fist as he stared at her, the expression on his face a mixture of worry and affection. Steve knew it well. He'd seen it every day growing up. Every fight he got into, every time he tried to sign up to join the ARMY, there was Bucky with that same look on his face. Bucky always wanted to be mad at him for getting into trouble, risking his life, doing any number of crazy things, but it never dampened how much he cared, how much he loved him.

He'd never seen him look at anyone else like that.

For a second, it stung. It burned him right down to the bones that Bucky could love someone the same way he did Steve. He'd never been jealous before. Bucky had been with women, they both had, sometimes they even shared them. But at the end of the day, they were each other's and nobody else's. He'd never thought that could change. He'd never wanted it to.

He'd cared about Peggy. He had. She was strong and smart and so damn beautiful. And maybe, for a little while, he thought that could work. The three of them together. Bucky liked Peggy just fine, thought she was a beautiful dame. But then things went haywire, Bucky was lost and Steve went into the ice and when he woke up, Peggy was out of reach, Bucky was, supposedly, dead, and he was just supposed to adjust and move on. He couldn't do that. He didn't know how to and wasn't sure he really wanted to. So when Bucky turned up alive, even if he wasn't quite the man Steve had known all his life, he was still Bucky, and Steve thought he could still have what he wanted.  _Who_  he wanted. He thought he could be happy. That he and Bucky could carve out a life together and the rest of it would all just figure itself out eventually. It would take time and work, but they could do that.

And then Darcy came along.

Maybe it was more appropriate to say that Steve went looking for her.

He wasn't even sure why. He was just drawn to her shop, like some unseen force told him he needed to be there, needed to ask for her help or her guidance or  _something_. He just needed a sign that Bucky was out there and he could help him. He was desperate, enough to ask someone he wasn't even sure he believed was the real deal. But she was, and he did get information on Bucky, but he got more than that too.

He didn't forget her words. The mysterious 'her' that was supposed to complete them, bring them all together. Peggy made sense at the time. She'd been such a big part of the turning point in his life. She'd meant something to him, given him so much. But he knew that there was no chance of things working with Peggy. She'd lived her life, moved on, and whatever chance they might have had together was gone. That wasn't the case with Bucky. He and Bucky could still be together, they could still live this life, figure out the world as it was,  _together_. And he could be happy with just him. He  _was_ happy with just him. It never occurred to him that maybe Bucky needed more.

It was a hard pill to swallow.

He lingered a moment longer, watching Bucky watch her, and then he turned and walked back to bed, alone.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, Bucky had come back to bed and was still fast asleep. It was a rough night for him and Steve was sure he spent much of it awake, keeping an eye on Darcy, whether he was angry with her or not.

Steve left the bed carefully, doing his best not to wake him. Bucky needed as much sleep as he could get. He took a shower and walked out to get a cup of coffee and something to eat before he noticed a distinctly empty couch. The sheet she'd used was folded and placed on the end of the couch neatly and, if it weren't for that, it would look like she'd never been there at all.

Steve frowned. Had she left? As far as he knew, it was still dangerous for her to return to her apartment. There was more going on than what she said and, while he still felt sceptical about the whole situation, he didn't want her to get hurt.

"Jarvis?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Yes, Captain Rogers." Jarvis mimicked his own quiet speech.

"Is Miss Lewis still in the building?"

"Yes. She's currently in the training room with Agent Romanoff."

"Thank you."

"Of course, sir."

Steve left his coffee behind and grabbed his shoes before leaving the apartment quietly, hoping Bucky would stay asleep long enough for him to get Darcy back before he could start worrying.

He was tired, scrubbing his hands over his eyes and yawning to himself as he took the elevator down. He leaned back against the wall and smiled faintly as the muzak that usually played was replaced with something more familiar. He appreciated the personal touch Jarvis always offered.

The training area was a whole floor rather than a singular room, and, given the hour, not many were up to take advantage of it.

Natasha was working over a speed bag, her hair tied up and her workout gear on. Darcy sat on the floor a few feet from her, legs crossed under her as she stared down at her lap, twisting a few rings around on her fingers.

"If you're in danger, it makes sense not to go back," Natasha told her.

"You don't think that's running away from a problem?"

"That depends on the problem. Is it something you're capable of taking on without help?"

Darcy frowned, shrugging her shoulders, dislodging the long braid her hair had been tied into, sending it falling down her back. "I don't know. I mean, I'm not even sure it's something that  _can_ be helped."

Pausing in her workout, Natasha leaned back and put her wrapped fists to her hips, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes things are set in motion and... you can't change them. They just... They're  _supposed_ to happen. I tell people there are paths, that nothing is set in stone, and, for the most part, that's true. There's always a fork in the road. Everybody makes choices and how it culminates depends on those choices."

"So make a different choice," Natasha told her, turning her head to look down at Darcy, an eyebrow raised. "Or have you made your choice already and this is the outcome?"

She swallowed tightly. "I've set it in motion. There's still... time to change things. But..."

"But you won't." Natasha took a seat in front of her, folding her legs and resting her hands on her knees. She stared at Darcy thoughtfully. "What are you afraid of, птичка?"

"My whole life I've been different. I've seen things, awful, horrible things, and it set me apart. I... I didn't know how to control it for so long that it would just happen. Every night it was a nightmare of who was going to die. And I was  _there_. I was  _them_. I was bleeding out in a car and feeling my entire life slip away. I was slitting my wrists in my bedroom, desperate for the pain to stop. I was  _them_ for as long as it took for them to die. And it changes a person. I mean, I can't say I was the most normal teenager, you know? And when I got control, God, it was the best feeling, because  _finally_  I could decide what I wanted to do and what I wanted to see. But when you spend so long telling everybody how good or bad or absolutely shitty their life is going to be, sometimes it really sucks knowing how it's all going to turn out. So I didn't want that for me. I didn't want to know if I was going to fall in love or fall out of love or have my heart broken. I didn't want to know if I was going to take the wrong turn down the wrong road and get run over by some random car. I just... I wanted to have something of my own that had nothing to do with this shitty power. And then everything changed and now I'm stuck." She swallowed tightly, turning her head up and blinking quickly.

"How do you get unstuck?" Natasha murmured.

Darcy laughed then, a sorrowful, broken noise. "I get dead."

Natasha frowned darkly. "The crossroads. One is to death. You said that is the path you've set yourself on. But there's still time to go back, to walk down a different road... So why not do that?"

"Because. I don't fit there." Darcy shook her head. "I'm tired. I'm so tired of not fitting. And maybe it'll fix it next time. Maybe it'll be one and not two and maybe I'll be enough. But here, now, it's not me. And I won't... I won't let  _Fate_ force me into anything."

"How're you so sure that the other path is wrong, hm? You told me that my life was meant to unfold the way it did. That even though it hurt and I hated it and I wished I had something better, something  _normal_ , that it would lead to something wonderful, something I  _would_ love. How do you know it isn't the same for you?"

"I just know."

Natasha sighed then and pushed up from the mats. "One more question, and you don't even have to answer it."

Darcy half-smiled up at her.

"Is it better to be  _right_ , or is better to be alive?"

Darcy's lips turned down in a thoughtful frown.

Natasha reached down and brushed some hair off of Darcy's cheek. "Упрямая птичка. не стоит обрезать свои крылья," she murmured affectionately. With that, she started past her, unwrapping her hands as she went. "Morning, Rogers," she greeted knowingly, a smirk tipping her mouth as she made her way to the locker room.

"Natasha," he replied, nodding at her shortly before he stepped through the doors he'd been standing in, listening in on their conversation. He cleared his throat and started across the mats to Darcy as she pushed herself up to stand, hooking her sandals with her fingers as she went.

"No tights," he noticed.

She glanced down at herself. "I forgot them in the shuffle last night." She shrugged. "Figure my legs need a breather anyway." She glanced away and then said, "You don't look like you're dressed for a workout..."

He shook his head. "I was looking for you actually... You weren't there this morning and I know Bucky will worry, so..."

"So you came to make sure the woman you hardly know, who was taking up space on your couch, didn't disappear herself somewhere, thus causing Bucky emotional trauma," she said, smiling emptily. "No worries. I'm still in the tower, safe and sound."

He stared at her a long moment, inhaling deeply. "Darcy, there's something I think we should talk about…"

She winced. "Listen, if this is some really awkward conversation where you pull the 'stay away from my man' routine; you're safe. I really,  _really_ don't plan on doing anything that could in any way hinder your relationship, so—"

"I'm not worried you're going to take him away," Steve interrupted, staring at her seriously. "I know Bucky. I love Bucky. And he has always loved me. If there is one thing I can guarantee in my life it's that he will always have me and I will always have him..." He stared at her searchingly. "But I  _am_  worried that you're going to hurt him. He has enough going on right now, he doesn't need anymore."

Darcy stared up at him, chewing the inside of her cheek. "I would never do anything to hurt him," she said, her voice quiet. "I know you don't understand and from where you're standing, it probably looks bad or confusing or... I don't know. I just... Look, in a few days, this is going to be so over. The dreams and the visiting and the worrying, it..." She shook her head, licking her lips. "He won't anymore. And he'll have you to hold him up, so... he'll be fine." She offered a vague smile then and turned on her heel. "Listen, I grabbed my bag, and I'm gonna stay with Natasha tonight. But I appreciate your help. Tell Bucky I said the same." With that, she walked away, and he stared at her back as she went, his brow furrowed.

Sighing, he gritted his teeth and turned, marching back toward the elevator. He was still missing too much of the picture and it seemed like every time he tried to talk to Darcy about it, she only brushed him off. The only other person who had answers was Bucky, so he would just have to wait for him to wake up and start asking questions.

* * *

Darcy was wandering. In no direction in particular. Natasha had work to do and told Darcy she was allowed to walk around the Tower. Jarvis let her know anywhere she wasn't supposed to be and, hey, a somewhat omnipotent voice talking to her wasn't nearly as creepy as it might be to some. She ended up on the science floor if the lab coats were anything to go by and found herself walking down the hallway, peering through the glass walls at the scurrying scientists moving around.

Her feet had a habit of taking her places even without her express consent and, before she knew it, she was standing in a lab that was rocking some serious heavy metal tunes. Not her particular brand of music, but she could appreciate the dedication necessary to handle the decibel level just short of making her ears bleed. Blending in with the music was the noise of soldiering tools and the mechanical whir of a robot moving around the floor, crane like arm moving in various directions.

Darcy took it all in curiously, letting a finger drag over a silver table top littered with tools and parts.

There were residual images left in what she touched, just brief flashes of them, of a man and a blue glow and a tumbler filled with whiskey. And a red head, smiling, laughing, bringing a light, airy hopefulness to her surroundings.

And then a head popped up on the other side of the table and a welding mask was shoved up to reveal Tony Stark's confused face staring back at her.

"Jarvis, cut the music," he shouted, still peering at her with a frown.

Quiet came over the shop as the man gave her a quick perusal. "Who are you? You don't belong here. Where'd you come from? How'd you even get in here? Jarvis, check your security protocols."

"Sir, this is Miss Lewis. She is a guest of Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Agent Romanoff," Jarvis informed him.

"And how'd she get into my shop?" Stark wondered, standing a little taller.

Darcy shrugged. "Door wasn't locked..." She cast her eyes around the room for a moment and then looked back at him, disgruntled and smudged in grease. Her fingers twitched and she frowned down at her hand. She was pretty sure she had enough to deal with, delving into Tony Stark's past, present and future was not high on her priority list.

"How does she know them?" Stark wondered to Jarvis and then asked her the same question, "How do you know them?"

"Happenstance," she answered.

His scowl was wholly unimpressed.

Her mouth turned up at the corner and she turned to face him properly, laying her hands down flat on the table between them. "Would you like a reading, Mister Stark?" she wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Do you want to know what your future holds?"

He rolled his eyes. "Great. They brought a crackpot in. Jarvis, tighten up security protocols and tell her owners to come collect her."

"On the contrary, according to what I've found online, Miss Lewis is accomplished in her field. Various customers have written glowing reviews of her abilities... She was also on HYDRA's cull list for... obvious reasons, sir. From what I have gathered, Miss Lewis is what you might call 'the real deal.'"

Stark frowned upwards and then tipped his head, considering her again. "Fortune teller, huh?" He pulled his gloves off rather snappishly. "So what, you read palms, tarot cards, look into a crystal ball?"

"If that's what you want, I can. Some people like the show." She grinned knowingly. "You're a show-off yourself, I'm sure you can appreciate it."

He shrugged agreeably, brows jumping briefly. "All right. How do we do this...?" He held his hands out. "Do I just—?"

She reached out and took his hands, inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes. "Ask a question... But make sure it's the right one."

His fingers fidgeted against her hands and she could hear his feet shuffle.

She stood in the darkness of his mind, surrounded by threads, the grey of the past, the red of his future, the yellow of his present.

"I... No. Will— Wait, hmm..." He took a little while to decide, struggling with his wording, "Am I... Can I be..." He blew out a heavy breath and hummed, gathering up his courage, "Am I a good person?" he finally got out.

Darcy's brow furrowed as she began sifting. "Do you want to know about the awards you'll get? The parades they'll throw. The merchandise that'll fly off the shelves. The children who will model themselves after you... Or do you want to know what  _they_ think? Your team. Your friends.  _Pepper_." She moved through the red threads, trailing her fingers over them, briefly seeing little moments of his life, flashes of him, happy and sad, angry and worried, standing atop the world and struggling to get out of the debris at the bottom of it.

"Or do you want to know... what  _makes_  a person good?" She reached for a few threads at once. "The lives you'll save that'll go on to do amazing things. The lives you'll save that won't, but will live anyway. The people that will add you to their prayers and will whisper your name with reverence when the world is saved again. The people that will name their children and their pets after you…"

She brushed those threads aside and reached for more. "Do you want to know how difficult it will get, how scared you'll feel? Because you will. You'll struggle, you'll fall, you'll panic and want to run and hide and never reach for another suit again... But you will. You  _always_  will. Because even when you can't breathe and the fear is so deep into your bones that it  _hurts_ , you are who you are. The suit doesn't make the man. The man makes the suit."

Her eyes opened then and bore into his. "What is a good person, Tony? He's just a person. Maybe a smarter, richer, snarkier person than most. But still.  _just_. a person."

She drew her hands back then and half-smiled at his expression, having been stripped of its former snark. His eyes were wide, possibly a little damp, and gone was the serial grin, a thoughtful, sincere look on his face as he tried to take in everything she'd said and apply it to himself.

"Right. Okay. Well... Uh..." He dropped his hands down and started fiddling with various cogs and pieces around him. "Thanks. I guess."

Darcy nodded, turning on her heel and sweeping toward the door.

"Is this... Is that why the others came to see you? Enlightenment, or...?"

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "As a matter of privacy, I never tell anyone what I've seen or what I know or who's asked me what." She smiled gently and raised her hand to mimic zipping her lips. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stark. Thank you for letting me stay in your tower." With that, she stepped outside the door, calling back, "Jarvis, turn the tunes back up."

As the door closed behind her, the sound of Metallica returning to full volume could be heard before the sound proofing came into effect.

Smiling to herself, she walked down the hall, humming pleasantly, feeling particularly good about that interaction.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis?"

"Is he all right?"

"More, I'd say, than he was prior to your visit."

She nodded. "Good. I'm glad."

Continuing down the hall, she cast her eyes toward the vents and wondered if she might be able to stumble upon Natasha's archer before the day was out.

* * *

"So they're not really dreams. They're visions of the future. Only... you don't need to be touching anyone like she does," Steve said, peering at him thoughtfully.

Bucky shrugged. "I guess."

"And all your dreams... They have her in them."

"Her. And you. All of us. Together." He shrugged, dropping his gaze down to the mug of coffee in his hands. "I wish I could show 'em to you. It's just... You remember before, we'd share girls sometimes."

"Yeah."

"It's like that, but it isn't. It's like... Darcy isn't just someone we added because it's fun or because we miss how soft a woman's skin is or how beautiful they smell. It's... It's everything about her. The way she laughs and how she talks to us and how she treats us. It's like... coming home. She... She loves us unconditionally. And we love her."

He frowned then, frustrated. "I know you're not there. And I know she doesn't think you ever will be. That... you'd only be with her because I love her. But... I'm tellin' you, if you just give her a chance... You're gonna love her. You're gonna fall head over boots for this girl and you're gonna do anything you can to show her. You— You're gonna have scrapbooks full of her, just... just the way she looks in the morning, her eyes all sleepy. You're gonna draw her hands, with all those rings, and you're gonna spend hours getting every one of 'em right. You're gonna sleep better with her between us and you're gonna miss her when she's not there. 'Cause she's not always going to be.

"She's stubborn and she's gonna try to walk away so many times I lose count, but you're gonna talk her out of it. You're always going to be the one bringing her back. Because you're the one she doesn't think loves her. Even if I know you do. Even if I've seen you spend hours awake, just watching her sleep, worried that one day she's not gonna come back, not gonna believe you when you tell her you love her. And it eats you up, it kills you that she doubts you, but you keep trying. You  _always_ try. 'Cause she's worth it. She's stubborn as hell and so damn sure that we don't need her. But we do." He stared at Steve seriously. " _We do_."

It was the most he'd said in a long time, Steve thought. Bucky was quiet. He spent most of his time just observing people, keeping an eye on exits, trying to see if he really fit in anywhere. He hated feeling like he was different, like they were all waiting for the ticking time bomb to go off. But he'd been opening up to Steve more and more, letting him in, sharing the memories that came back, and the dreams he'd been having. But this... There was so much intense sincerity in his voice and his face that Steve took it to heart.

"If you want me to try. I'll try," Steve told him.

Bucky stared at him searchingly. "Don't do it for me. Don't— Don't let her be right. Do it because she's gonna be one of the best things that ever happened to you."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

Steve half-smiled. " _Yeah_."

* * *

Darcy wandered around Natasha's apartment, picking up things here or there before putting them back exactly where she'd found the. They were waiting on Chinese food to arrive and, in the meantime, Natasha was raiding her nail polish supply for some mutual pampering.

Natasha's apartment wasn't cluttered, but it wasn't like Steve's and Bucky's either. There was a personal touch, but it was muted, as if she was very careful about how much of herself she wanted to show, but still wanted her space to be comfortable. Darcy could understand that. She knew Natasha had moved around a lot and having one place to call home was rare for her, especially one that she actually  _considered_ home. But she felt safe at the Tower, as safe as she  _could_ feel given her experience.

When Natasha returned, it was with a half-grin as she held up various bottles of nail polish along with clippers and a nail file.

Darcy smiled and joined her in the living room, where a large number of pillows had been collected together on the floor for comfort.

"We'll have to invite Pepper next time," Natasha mused. "You'll like her."

"Now who's telling whose fortune?" Darcy teased.

Natasha chuckled under her breath and placed the bottles on the table, glancing at her from the corner of her eyes. "Some of us don't need powers to see things."

"Who else would I like then?" Darcy wondered, taking up a bottle of Purple Rain and rolling it between her palms.

Natasha reached out to rest her hands atop Darcy's knees. "Hill, I think. She's straight-forward, loyal, and sarcastic when you get to know her... And Coulson's protégé, Skye, you'd like her. Snarky, smart, and down to earth."

Darcy hummed, uncapping the nail polish and placing the bottle on the table as she reached for one of Natasha's hands and examined it a moment. Every nail was perfectly filed already, which she should have expected. Darcy was precise in each stroke of the brush as she painted Natasha's nails, careful not to get it on her skin. "Anyone else?"

"Mm… Foster, maybe, if she pulled away from her work long enough to talk to you."

"Well, maybe you can introduce me to them sometime."

"Sure." Natasha stared at her meaningfully. "Since we have limited time before you execute a suicide mission, it should probably be sooner rather than later."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Cutting right to the heart of things, huh?"

Natasha shrugged a shoulder, careful not to shift the hand Darcy was working on. "I thought you liked it when I was to the point."

"I do. It just usually works in my favor."

"Maybe that's the point."

Darcy raised her head to look at her curiously.

"I'm your friend, Darcy. I'm not here to agree with you. When we met, you told me that real friends wouldn't offer me empty flattery. Well, I won't offer you empty support… I don't agree with what you're doing. Anything that results in you giving up—"

"I'm not giving up. I… I'm choosing how I want my life to unfold and… outside forces don't like that," she argued.

Natasha shook her head. "The choices you're making are essentially the same as surrendering… You said yourself that there was an option to avoiding this path. That you could live, but you won't, because you've already decided how it's going to end."

"I  _know_ the ending."

"And what makes it worse? Hm? What is so much worse than death?" Natasha stared at her seriously, her jaw stretching as she clenched her teeth. "I care about you, птичка. I don't give my affection easily, so when I tell you that I worry about you, I  _mean_ it."

"I know." Darcy's shoulders slumped a little as she sighed and dropped her gaze to Natasha's hand. Biting her lip, she murmured again, "I know."

Silence reigned then as Darcy focused on Natasha's nails and let her words resonate in her.

Was she stubborn? Yes. She always had been. Was this a situation where maybe her stubbornness was hindering her ability to make the right choices? Maybe. Yes. But… she wasn't sure what she wanted to do about that. Already, before anything had really happened, she was causing problems for Steve and Bucky. She could feel herself getting between them, causing mistrust and confusion, and she didn't want to do that. Bucky needed Steve, they needed and deserved each other. After everything they'd been through, she wanted them to have the best. And that didn't include her.

She was blowing on Natasha's nails when Jarvis informed them that the Chinese food had arrived at the front desk in the lobby.

"I'll get it," Darcy said, pushing up to her feet.

"I can," Natasha offered.

"No, your nails are still wet. It's okay, I've got it."

Natasha frowned. "Still. You shouldn't go alone."

Darcy rolled her eyes, smiling at her lightly. "I told you. That's not going to happen for months. It won't even be set into motion until Thursday. I'm fine."

Natasha's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Look, I'll be down and back up in like ten minutes, tops." Crossing the room, she grabbed her wallet out of her duffel bag and walked to the door. "Don't touch anything. Those nails are perfect."

Natasha's mouth quirked up at one corner. "I like the color you picked."

Darcy winked at her. "Knew you would."

Walking out the door, she padded down the hallway to the elevator, realizing too late that she was barefoot. Shrugging, she climbed on and hit the button for the lobby before leaning back against the wall. She closed her eyes and focused on the music coming from above, a nice jazz tune that made her toes tap.

The elevator paused two floors down, the doors parting to admit one more. She didn't open her eyes, but as the doors closed again, his cologne wafted over to her, all too familiar. She considered ignoring him, but as soon as her shoulders tensed, he seemed to notice and cleared his throat rather demandingly. She rolled her eyes to herself and finally looked over at him.

"Don't tell me. You have food waiting in the lobby too," she said.

"Pasta. You?"

"Chinese."

He hummed, casting his gaze away for a moment.

"Did you get the extra meatballs?" she wondered.

He turned to her, brow raised with surprise.

Her mouth twitched. "I don't know why you always get extra, they're packed in so much you get more meatball than noodle."

He half-smiled. "I'm sure there's a joke in there…"

She grinned. "I've never been a fan of subtle."

"I've noticed…" He pursed his lips for a moment. "Listen, Darcy, if I've made you feel… unwelcome, that wasn't my intention."

She paused for a moment and then asked rather boldly, "Are you sure?"

His brows hiked, mouth parted.

"It's okay, you know, to want him for yourself… I don't blame you." She shook her head. "He's… He doesn't seem to believe it, but he's a good man. A really,  _really_ good man. You both are, actually. And I'm not talking about heroics or monikers. Although, those are worth mentioning too. But when I say you're good, I mean the little guy that still calls all the shots, even if it means running headfirst into a fight you're not sure you can win. You've got guts and ideals and you stick by them. I can appreciate that."

He stared down at her, his brow furrowed tightly. "I don't... I don't understand you. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes you make complete sense. And then you say something or you do something and I feel like I'm back at square one and I never even scratched the surface."

Darcy shrugged. "Knowing somebody,  _really_ knowing them, takes time and energy and... shitty experiences that test who you really are under all that bravado and sarcasm. I mean, sure, there are times you have those deep conversations over too much wine and cold take-out and you bare your soul hoping it reaches out and finds something  _similar_  in someone else. And you hope they feel it too. For a little while maybe they do. Maybe you're just two people in a very big world answering questions with more honesty than you've ever shown anyone before. And everything makes sense, the world outside your window comes into focus, and you start to think that yeah, you can do this, you can be that stripped down version of yourself every day, from that day forward. So you reach out and you take their hand and maybe you hold on a little tighter than you ever have before... But then the sun comes up and the wine is gone and the status quo infiltrates your little slice of sincerity. So you go back to who you were before your heart-to-heart and you continue on, wondering if you ever really knew them, or yourself, or anything."

"Until the next bottle of wine…"

She smiled, letting out a breathy laugh. "Yeah." She looked up at him. "Until the next one."

His eyes met hers and held on, searching them for a second that felt like a minute and a minute that felt like an hour. "I can't get drunk. I can't even get tipsy," he admitted. "But I'd still like to know you." Before she could argue, he held a hand up and shook his head. "Not because of Bucky, or because I'm worried that you might get between us. I want to know you, Darcy. So I guess my question is... Do you want to know me?"

Her lips parted slowly, but no answer left her.

The elevator doors suddenly opened, and she frowned at them, wondering just how slow the elevator had been moving for them to only now reach their destination.

She stepped through the doors, with Steve moving to her side, and together they walked down the hallway leading to the lobby. The man at the front desk nodded his chin at them in greeting.

"You were taking a while; I paid the delivery guys so they could head back out..." He looked to Darcy curiously. "You picking up for Romanoff?"

"Yes. Chinese," she said, opening her wallet.

Steve paid for his meal as well and waited as she gathered her bag and joined him on the walk back to the elevator.

It was silent for the first few floors they passed before gathered enough courage to ask, "Is he still mad at me?"

Steve turned to her, his expression understanding. "I think he's more worried than angry... He might not remember everything but he spent a lot of time getting me out of trouble. I didn't make it easy on him and..." He smiled to himself. "Bucky was kind of a mother-hen sort when we were growing up."

Darcy grinned. "I can see that."

He tipped his head curiously. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Seen our past together... when you were..." He waved a hand around to his head awkwardly. "When I asked you to... ' _read_ ' me." He frowned, disgruntled with his lack of knowledge when it came to her abilities.

"You wanted to know your future... You told me you didn't need to see the past." She shrugged. "I don't look if I'm told not to."

"Never?" he wondered.

"Not when I had control. Maybe accidentally, when I was younger and I wasn't sure what I was doing. But later, when I knew how to control it, no. I try to respect people's privacy... It's a slippery slope otherwise."

"Yeah. I bet." His brow furrowed. "But if I asked. If I... offered, you wouldn't mind looking?"

"At your history with Bucky?" She raised an eyebrow up at him. "Why?"

"Well if you ever let me take you up on that honest conversation over a bottle of wine, you'd probably get a lot more answers that way. Might even keep things balanced since you'll be a little more open to answering and I'll still have all of my inhibitions to keep me from opening up too much."

She hummed. "You know, this sounds like a lot of effort on your part considering I won't be in your hair much longer."

"Then we should capitalize on the time we do have."

She searched his face for any sign that he wasn't as eager to spend time with her as she suspected, but she found nothing leaning in that direction. Steve's poker face was terrible; he preferred blunt honesty to lying for the most part. Or that was what she'd gathered from visions, anyway. There was a chance he was just terrible at lying to her and Bucky and much better in life or death situations... She hoped so, anyway.

She wasn't sure what she wanted to say. Spending time with him, getting to know him, opening herself up to him, could lead in a direction she wasn't so sure she wanted to go. Wasn't the whole point of this to let go of him? Of the three of them? To let them be together without her interruption? And yet, here he was, offering her an off ramp from the road she was so sure she needed to follow.

She thought of Natasha then, of her warning not to be stubborn, that she shouldn't make assumptions on things, asking her if it was better to be right and dead or wrong and alive.

The elevator stopped then, the doors sliding open for Steve to step out of.

He looked back at her from the other side, his expression set. "I don't give up, not when it matters."

She stared at him as the doors started to close. "I know," she admitted.

He grinned at her, a devastatingly handsome smile, and then he was gone, and the elevator was moving.

She shook her head, closing her eyes, and sighed.

This was a mistake. It was probably a huge, colossal mistake, but...

She had until Thursday.

What was the harm in seeing if destiny wasn't completely wrong?

When she stepped through the door to Natasha's apartment, she locked it behind her and made her way into the living room, where Natasha was still sitting on the pillows.

She grinned up at Darcy as she moved to drop the bag on the table beside them.

"Food first, and then..." Natasha held up a bottle of Soup Can, a bright red nail polish.

Darcy half-grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

The room was dark, nothing but a shaft of moonlight falling across the bed where he laid, his back to her and his knees up a little, as if he was trying to crawl into a ball and sink away, out of sight.

Darcy frowned, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "You can't be mad at me forever..."

He didn't answer.

She sighed, turning to stare at his back. "I'm not trying to hurt you," she murmured. "I just want you to be happy."

He snorted.

"Why is that so hard to believe, huh? I told you from the beginning that you would be happy. It might take some time and a lot of work and you wouldn't always like it, but you would have him. He would love you and support you through all of it."

His hand raised, swiping at his face. "You don't get it."

"Tell me what I don't get."

He stayed quiet for a long moment, enough that she wondered if she should prod him some more. But then... "It's not just about me and him or me and you or you and him. It's all of us. All three of us. It's..." He sighed, heavy with frustration.

She stayed quiet so he could gather his thoughts.

It took him a few false starts, but eventually he figured out what he wanted to say. "You're born with two arms, right? They're a part of you, a vital part. They catch you when you fall, push you when don't feel like you can go anymore, and hold on tight to everybody you love. They can be strong and steady or weak or soft... And when you lose one, it hurts. It kills you a little bit. And you wonder if you could do it without that arm. If you're even you anymore when you're missin' parts of yourself. But you still got the other arm, and it compensates and you realize, yeah, yeah, I can do it. I can do amazing goddamn things with one arm, or no arms, or nothin'. But if you had a choice, if you got to decide, you'd want 'em both. Because they were yours, they were part of you, and the other arm, it's good, it's a goddamn gift, but you still get phantom pains and you still wish your lost arm was there. And it doesn't matter how much time goes by or how hard you work or how much that other arm does to keep your head above water... You're always gonna know that you had that other arm, even for just a little while, and you should've had it for more. For the rest of your life..."

He sniffed then, shifting on the bed. "So don't tell me you don't fit or you're not loved or wanted or that I'm better off without you, 'cause I'm tellin' you... You're part of me, Darcy. You're an important part of me. And you're wanted... You're  _loved_."

Darcy closed her eyes, tipping her head up as tears burned her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She bit her lip to keep the noises crawling up her throat at bay. She wiped at her noise with a shaking hand and shook her head to herself. It was a few minutes of choked silence before she laid down on the bed beside him, and a few minutes more before slowly, uncertainly, she turned herself over onto her side and she wiggled closer, her front pressed to his back. Her arm slowly moved around him, hand pressed flat to his chest. Bit by bit, she could feel his body uncoil, relaxing against her, and he reached up, covering her hand with his, his thumb stroking over her knuckles.

They laid like that for a good long while, his heart thumping steadily under her hand, and then he turned over onto his back beside her and looked over at her, his eyes washing over her face. He kept hold of her hand on his chest as he reached across to brush her hair off her cheek, bionic fingers lightly tracing the shell of her ear.

"Can you do me a favour?" he asked her quietly.

"What?"

He brought his fingers down the line of her jaw and rubbed his thumb under the curve of her mouth. "Tell me I won't lose you."

Her brow furrowed. "Bucky..."

His thumb pressed against her mouth for a moment, making her pause, and he stared at it, his jaw ticking, and then he licked his lips. "I don't care if you have to lie," he finally said, his voice throaty, thick with emotion. He raised his eyes to hers, bright blue and tearful. "Tell me anyway."

Darcy stretched a hand between them and swiped a tear away from his cheek before scrubbing her nails through his hair. "You won't lose me," she whispered.

He nodded, his chin trembling, and then he slipped his hand behind her neck, stroking her nape gently before he brought her in close, their foreheads meeting in the middle.

"I won't give you up without a fight, you know that, right?" he said roughly.

Darcy closed her eyes. "I know."

He leaned back then and kissed her forehead, lingering a long moment before he wrapped himself around her, face buried in her neck. She could feel him shaking, struggling to maintain his feelings. Her fingers combed through his hair soothingly before her hand swept down his back, rubbing in ever widening circles. Until, eventually, he wasn't shaking, he was just tired, exhausted really, and still holding onto her like he feared she might slip right through his fingers.

It was a realistic fear, both in their regular world and in the dreamscape they were currently sharing. But she didn't say that; instead, she continued to hold him, letting herself enjoy the familiar embrace of his arms and the soft, warm pattern of his breath on her skin.

When she opened her eyes next, she was laying atop the many pillows spread over Natasha's floor, her friend curled up like a cat at the very corner of their pillow bed.

Darcy blinked back the remnants of sleep, still feeling the faint pressure of Bucky wrapped all around her and missing the weight of his arms around her body.

She turned over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling as the sun slowly crawled across it.

She was going home today. Back to her apartment and her work and her regular life. Away from Stark Tower and it's complicated residents.

She raised a hand to brush her hair back from her forehead and paused as her nails caught her attention.

Red.

Like the rings on his shield and the star on his shoulder.

Like the blood on her hands as she bled out on her kitchen floor.

One choice, two paths. And put like that, it seemed so easy...

" _So I guess my question is... Do you want to know me?_ "

It was a good question. The  _right_ question.

She had four days to figure out her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **translate** :
> 
>  
> 
> _(russian to english; natasha to darcy)_
> 
>  
> 
> птичка - little bird
> 
> Упрямая птичка. не стоит обрезать свои крылья - Stubborn bird. Do not clip your own wings.
> 
>  **author's note** : sorry for the wait! I hope it was worth it. it was a lot of fun digging more into steve's personality and his view of what's going on as well as building up natasha and darcy's friendship and having darcy meet tony. there's been a lot of movement on steve's part in terms of what he wants and a lot of thinking on darcy's part in terms of just how set in her decision she really is.
> 
> thank you so, so much to everyone reading and reviewing! I'm honestly surprised so many of you are enjoying this. I wasn't sure I hit the mark with this one, so I hadn't expected it to be much of a hit. All of your reviews are very encouraging and have really kept me wanting to write for this particular story.
> 
> thanks for reading. please leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
> 
> \- **lee | fina**


	4. fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : darcy [1](https://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_4a/set?id=173012050) [2](https://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_4b/set?id=173164597)  
>  **warning** : explicit sexual content

**IV**.

Natasha texted her sometime around lunch. — _Get out of my apartment and do something_.

[Darcy](https://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_4a/set?id=173012050) didn't take the obvious hint that she should track down either Steve or Bucky, but instead took it as an opportunity to wander around Avengers Tower in search of an archer with a certain affection for the colour purple. As she wandered up and down random hallways, hoping blindly that her powers might point her in the right direction (asking JARVIS had only resulted in "I'm afraid the only hint I can offer is that he is inside the building, Miss Darcy, my apologies"), Darcy decided to just let things unfold as they should.

Which, now that she thought about it, might be somewhat ironic. Because yes, in true Darcy fashion, she was intervening in Fate's plan for her, but, well, this was different. This wasn't something life changing. It was simply… talking to someone of interest. Darcy had seen the threads of Natasha's life, the ones wound with a purple thread that pulsed with love and partnership. Call her curious; she wanted to see the man herself.

But, whatever plan her powers had for her that day, they were not leading her to Clint Barton. No, instead, she found herself surrounded by people in white coats, filling laboratories of varying skill and focus. Walking down the center of the hallway, her heels clicking on the floor, she cast her eyes to either side, taking in the scurrying people of science, moving to and fro, occasionally bumping into each other in their single-minded intensity. She continued walking, a thrum in the air, drawing her down, down,  _down_ the hallway. Was it just her, or did it seem to be getting longer?  _Hm_ …

She paused once, a ripple of trembling energy whispering to her from the right. Coffee, Poptarts, and colourful starbursts skittered across her mind. Great clusters of galaxies and light, rainbows, bridges, and equations filtered in and out. And then, a heavy weight, the lack of sleep, clouding everything around the edges.

Darcy's eyes turned curiously toward the lab, where a brunette stood, the only person in the whole room, wearing a too large t-shirt, pajama pants, and three pencils in her lopsided hair. She was muttering to herself, a furrow at her brow, and a smudge of marker on her chin. There was a wave, a  _pulse_ , that ricocheted through Darcy's chest, and she found herself taking a step forward, toward the door.

But then there was a trembling, chaotic coil of energy that called her attention forward once more. She had to keep going, keep walking. There was someone she needed to see. Her feet moved without her say-so, drawing her down the hall, past a few more labs, each of them getting progressively less busy, until finally, either side of the hall's labs were noticeably empty. Her feet only only stopped when she'd reached the end, where a single lab lay in wait.

Darcy's hand reached forward, fingers coiling around the handle. But she paused when something wary and uncertain spun down her spine. A warning, maybe; a reminder to be cautious. She didn't feel danger, exactly. Jeremiah screamed of danger. But this… This was different. This was…  _sadlonelydistressedguiltyangry **angryANGRY**_.

She pulled the door open and took a step inside, ignoring the voice (that sounded entirely too much like Bucky) that told her to be careful.

The lab was quiet. There was the distant noise of music playing softly in the background. She recognized the sound of a mandolin, but her attention was soon turned elsewhere. There was a man, his head a busy nest of springy, greying curls, and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. His tabletop was an interactive computer that he was sifting through data on.

He didn't seem to notice her, so in tune with his work, but she knew that lingering without telling him she was there would only bother him when he did come up for air, likely to find his tea had long gone cold.

She cleared her throat gently, hoping not to startle him.

She didn't succeed.

He jerked in his seat, his head raising abruptly, and he blinked at her, reaching up to readjust his glasses. "Did JARVIS let you in here?" His mouth was furled up in a frown, stress lines fanning around the corners.

Darcy cast her eyes upward, shrugged, and said, "The door wasn't locked."

He blinked again, seeming perplexed, and then shook his head. "It… usually is. JARVIS, did you unlock the door?"

" _Miss Lewis seemed to be very intent on meeting you, Doctor Banner. I apologize for the breach in privacy_."

Darcy's lips twitched before she stepped forward, tucking her arms behind her back. "Nice workspace. Kind of isolated, but… super clean and organized. Do you do that or does someone come in after you've snuck away to hide?"

His mouth turned down. "I'm sure there's a cleaning staff, but I like to keep my workspace clean. I'm sorry, what is your name again?"

"Darcy," she answered, nodding in his direction. "And you're Bruce, aren't you?" She squinted thoughtfully, before whistling. "Biochemistry, Nuclear Physics, and Gamma Radiation… I feel smarter just saying those words."

He pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, I think you've… I think you're in the wrong place." He motioned to the door. "I'm sure JARVIS can guide you to wherever you were meaning to go."

"I'm already there." She took a walk around his desk, glancing briefly at his work before casting her gaze elsewhere. "So. You never answered my question before, not really. Does the cleaning staff wait until you've left, hiding in the so-called safety of your room?"

He followed her with his eyes, "I'm not sure how that's relevant to—"

"Everything's relevant in some way." She reached up, tugging on her ear; a green, apple-shaped stud there…  _An apple a day keeps the doctor away_ … She could have laughed, but she didn't think he'd appreciate it. A cluster of black and red feathers hung in her other ear, dusting her shoulder as she moved. "I sense a lot of anger in you, Doc. Of the seething variety, always carefully kept under wraps, just brimming under the surface, waiting to erupt…" She looked toward him, an eyebrow arched. "Apt description, or am I missing my mark?"

He shifted. "Apt enough."

Darcy hummed, coming to a stop then, just a few feet away. "Since we already know what your job is, would you like to know mine."

"I think you've dropped a few hints, but sure." He nodded, peering at her. "What is it you do, Darcy?"

She smiled slowly. "I'm what you might call… a fortune teller."

A cynical smile played at his lips as his eyes fell. "Did Tony put you up to this?"

She laughed under her breath. "You know, you're not the first person to ask me that, but I can honestly tell you that he has nothing to do with why I'm standing here."

Unconvinced, he said, "JARVIS… Is Miss Lewis affiliated with Tony?"

" _Miss Lewis is an associate of Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Agent Romanoff's. She has no direct affiliation to Sir, nor is she on his payroll for any type of services. As Miss Lewis has said, she does own a shop where she offers a variety of services, not limited to palm or tarot card reading. From the research I've accumulated, her abilities lie more in her ability to read one's past, present, or future depending on the validity of the question they ask regarding thereof_."

Doctor Banner turned his gaze back toward her, still as disbelieving, but likely for a different reason now. "So… A fortune teller."

She nodded, tapping her fingers against the edge of his desk. "I didn't go to school for it, but I'm a unique talent in my field all the same."

He hummed, mouth turning up faintly at the corners. "So… what exactly brought you to my lab then?  _Fate?_ "

She shrugged. "Maybe. We don't discuss things directly. If I'm being honest, I was looking for someone else. Or, I thought I was. But I like to think I end up where I'm supposed to." She took a seat on a stool and tucked her heels against the foot bar.

"Is that how you met the others?" His eyes narrowed, his suspicion clear. "How you managed an invite to one of the most security conscience buildings in the country…?"

Her smile was slow and mysterious. "They were… special cases."

"Ah." His tone turned mocking. "And is that what I am?"

"Oh, I have no doubt you're special," she mused, raising an eyebrow. Before he could argue, she held her hands out, palm up. "Would you like a reading, Doctor Banner? Free of charge, just this once."

He eyed her hands and shifted himself back a step. His shoulders hunched, his body seeming to cave in on itself protectively. "I don't think so. Thank you for the offer though."

She wiggled her fingers. "Are you sure? No plaguing questions you want to ask? Nothing about your future? Your research? Your… little green problem?"

He swallowed thickly, licking at his dry lips, and stared at her. "You can… see those things?"

"If you ask the right question, I can see a lot of things." Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, and then nodded down to her hands. "C'mon. I don't bite. Put your hands on top of mine and ask me what it is you want to know."

He took a half-step forward— it was progress, at least.

"And what's the right question?" he wondered.

"Depends on the person."

"So, what's the right question for  _me?_ "

She smiled. "You'd know better than I would."

He huffed a little, but moved closer. "You've done this to the others?"

"I'm not at liberty to say." She winked. "Confidentiality and all that."

"You're not bound by it though, are you? Not like, say, counselors would be..."

Darcy tisked. "My business wouldn't be what it is without a level of discretion…"

"Hmm." He wiped his palms on his pants, his fingers twitching. "So a question then. That's all you need?" He raised his hands up, let them rest, just an inch above her own.

She stared at him, square in the eye. "The world is full of questions, and some answers are harder to find than others. Some outcomes are more difficult than we want them to be. Some futures are not what we hope to happen. Here, now, you're going to ask a question, and if it's the right one, I'm going to give you the answer."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "And if I ask wrong?"

Her lips ticked up, and then she raised her hands, to press to his. " _Don't_."

The moment their skin met, her vision changed. Gone was the suspicious and cautious man of science, and in its place was a dark void.

"Ask."

His voice floated around her. "I'm thinking."

"Think faster."

He scoffed under his breath. "Do you always rush your clients?"

"Usually my clients come to me, and they already know what they want to ask."

He hummed. "So, I'm an outlier then?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be used to that?"

"I think you may need to work on your bedside manner."

Darcy grinned. "Tell it to my Yelp page."

He chuckled— a rough, surprised noise— and then sighed. "I suppose the most obvious question will do... Will I ever be  _me_ again, without the Other Guy?"

Darcy paused as threads began to appear. "Is that really what you want to know?"

He paused. "Did I ask the  _wrong_ question?"

She twisted her mouth to the side. "Not… exactly."

"Are you allowed to give suggestions?"

"I can't tell you what to ask," she hedged.

He sighed, sounding oh so tired. " _But_ …?"

"What's the core of your question…? Is it 'the other guy' you want to get rid of or is it something else you want more of?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a frustrating person to deal with?"

"Yes." She nodded unabashedly. "Multiple times."

"I'm not surprised."

Darcy snorted. "I'm just giving you some time to rethink your question. You're welcome, by the way."

He exhaled, long and suffering, but he seemed to take her suggestion to heart and really consider what he wanted to know.

Meanwhile, Darcy stood surrounded by threads, black and white for his past, green twined with purple for his present, and a cerulean blue for the future. She wandered around them, in reach but never touching. She was careful not to brush the black and white, but his past was difficult, which meant it was sending her glimpses even without her trying to read them. Glances of his father yelling, the stench of alcohol permeating the air, his mother crying out in pain. Abuse, neglect, and a simmering rage for having no control over any of it. She shuddered and put space between her and those threads.

Finally, Bruce's voice reached her, careful and uncertain. "What if… What if I asked if I'd ever… find peace?"

Darcy heard the whisper of a voice, the musical sound of laughter, distant but powerful; it lingered in the back of his mind, surrounded by a protective bubble of  _hope_.

She walked toward the blue thread, where parts of it were fraying and dull. "You don't take care of yourself very well." She smoothed a hand over the thread, smoothing it over, even as tiny pieces of it continued to piece apart. "You push away happiness because you think you don't deserve it, that you won't be able to hold onto it, that you'll… hurt it somehow." She pressed her fingers into the thread, straight into the middle, and watched as it unraveled, spreading in different directions.

"There are three ways this can go." One thread was dull, a grey-ish blue that was listless and sagging, sprinkled with large doses of a faded green and a purple tinge. The second was a little brighter, the color scheme more eclectic, woven with red, gold, black, purple, blue, and white. It was frayed, but sturdy. The last was bright and vivid; blue, purple, and green were all woven together seamlessly.

She gripped the first thread and was torn out of the tower and placed in a far-away jungle, surrounded by the cacophony of animals in the tree branches, of the crunch of leaves under her feet, and the sensation of sweat collecting on her sun-kissed skin. She was hungry, her beard had grown long and scraggly, and her feet hurt, the soles of her shoes worn down to nearly nothing. "The first leads to isolation. You leave the tower and your team, you seek penance in your loneliness. You hide from anyone who shows you kindness, wallow in your guilt, and tell yourself it's all you deserve… Sometimes dying is just living in the worst way you can manage."

His fingers twitched against her palm, but he didn't pull back.

"What…" He cleared his throat as his voice grew rough. "What about the second?"

Darcy yanked herself out of the jungle, the sweltering heat bleeding from her body with a heavy inhalation. She blinked wildly to clear her vision and turned to the second thread, reaching forward and letting it take her away.

She's in the lab again, but it's not the same. She isn't there, it's just him, still isolated and safe, monitored by JARVIS for any signs of going green around the edges. When a mission comes in, he answers. He's exhausted. He's  _always_ exhausted. But, he answers. His life becomes a constant search for safety. He pays his debts by saving others and returns to the tower because it lends him some modicum of comfort, his ebbing fear is enough that he can comfortably survive. He lives out his life as an Avenger, dealing with the fallout of who and what he is, never quite happy, but… content, in his own way.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he said.

She pursed her mouth. "I think we have different definitions of bad."

He snorted.

"I'm not saying it's the worst. I've seen worse." A cold sensation ran down her back. "I  _am_ saying that there's better. You stay because you think Tony can help corral the Hulk. You think there's enough safety measures in place that your chances of hurting others are minimized."

"Aren't they?"

"Sure. But that's only a piece of the puzzle."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me what the rest of the puzzle is?"

"Since you asked… You wanted to know if you'd find peace. And in some ways, you do. The second thread gives you peace from that constant state of fear. Fear of yourself, of your anger, of what you're capable of, of who could be hurt in the process. But what it doesn't give you, what it  _can't_ give you, not completely, is  _happiness_ …" She can see him, occasionally stepping out of his comfort zone, joining in with the other Avengers for meals or the odd party. He stays on the fringes of everything, but he's there, letting a foot dip in the pool of normality, but never quite submerging. "You have friends you care about. Your team. You have people who would defend you and you'd defend them. But you still keep your distance. Not just because you're worried you'll hurt them, but because getting too close means seeing what you can't have. Seeing them live their lives in a way you don't think you can."

He didn't reply, but she could feel a ripple of pain, of hurt and loneliness that gnawed at her nerves.

"I'm not saying this to hurt you," she murmured, and then she withdrew from the second thread and turned to the third. "I'm saying it because you need to hear it."

He scoffed. "You sound like someone I know."

The imagery that hit her as soon as her fingers coiled into the blue promise of serenity was one edged with the happy glow of love. It was dreamy in quality, like those first moments when you wake up and the world is still a little fuzzy while your body lays weightless, coming out of sleep gently, coiled in the warm comfort of a blanket.

She blinks, her vision clearing, and the woman smiling at her has pink lips, blue eyes, and soft, dark hair that falls around her delicate, bare shoulders. There is a smile, hiding at the corner of those berry-bitten lips, as she reaches for Bruce, dragging her finger down his cheek and under his chin. Here is comfort. Here is warmth and love and partnership. Here is Betty; smart, beautiful, stubborn, strong Betty. Betty who stands up to her father and reaches for Bruce without hesitation. Who's seen every side of him, good and bad and terrifying and chooses to love all of it. There's a wedding, something small and intimate, except for Tony, who is loud and boisterous and cheering them on in the background. There's a home, built in the apartment that was once his safe haven, built to withstand whatever the Other Guy threw at it, and now held steady by the comfort and familiarity of a family that grows there. He is Betty's, and she is his, in every way two people can be one another's. He still works in his lab and he fights alongside the team and he grows and learns and embraces the parts of him that keep him up at night, that scare him and revolt him and destroys whatever lay in their path. He works  _with_ the Other Guy, he builds a life, he finds peace and happiness and a home.

There are bad days. Days when he wants to run and hide and bury his head. Days when he wants to yell and scream and shove Betty away from him for her own good. There are days when he has no control, when the Other Guy takes over and there is no stopping or guiding or working with him. There are people who hate him and blame him and demand his destruction. But they grow fewer over time, as he learns control, as he learns to forgive himself, as he lets himself want for more and recognizes that he  _deserves_  more. The good days outnumber the bad, until they're so infrequent that he doesn't spend every second of every minute of every day planning for the worst of it. There is peace there, in every sense of the word.

When Darcy came out of her vision, she had to blink against the bright lights of the lab.

Bruce's chin was trembling, and his eyes were down, cast toward the floor. She folded her thumbs over the back of his hands and held on, waiting. For some people, a look into their future could be devastating; it could rock the foundation of how they saw things. She could see in the way he stood that he was still processing it, cautious to believe her, to  _hope_ that she was right.

"You saw—?" His voice was choked, and he cut himself off. "You're sure it was…?"

She sat back against the stool she was perched on and searched his face a moment. "Do you believe in soul mates?"

He blinked rapid-fire and reached up to fiddle with his glasses. "I'd have to believe in the concept of a soul first."

"And? Do you?"

"I'm not sure… I think the soul can sometimes be interpreted just as a person's conscience. The proverbial Jiminy Cricket that guides them in making their decisions."

"Hmm. See, I think they're two separate things. I think people have a conscious, but it's built up from the moment they're born. Something taught and shaped by their experiences and the people around them. But the soul, that's something intrinsic, it's something individual, separate from good or bad. It's like… your shadow. You can't always see it, but it's made in your image and it'll follow you wherever you go."

"And you think that some souls are… mated?" His brow furrowed. "That they're meant to be together?"

"I think that some people, no matter what happens, will always find their way back to you… if you let them." She shrugged. "Maybe it's just a fancy way of saying 'if you love them, let them go, and if they love you, they'll come home.'"

"I've always thought that saying relieved people of their obligation to put effort into something." He picked up a stray pencil to fiddle with. "I understand the general idea of it. That sometimes the timing isn't right and you each need to take a step back, get some air, figure yourselves out. But I can also see how some people might take it as an easy out, an escape route when things get hard." He smiled then, dim and distant. "Life, in my experience, is rarely easy. But there are… things,  _people_ , that are worth fighting for and holding onto. It just becomes a matter of discerning whether that fight results in something good for both people involved."

"You make a good point." She nodded. "But who gets to decide what's good for someone? It's an individual choice, right? You might not want to put her in danger, but she might be willing to take that risk. So, then it becomes a whole  _thing_ , right? Are you doing it to keep her safe or because you're scared? And even if that fear comes from a good place, from that chatty cricket of yours, trying to do the right thing, when does it become an issue of disregarding another person's autonomy and ability to make their own choices?"

He hummed. "It's a tricky situation… But then, I think the one who turns into a giant green rage monster probably has a better idea of his own limitations."

"Maybe," she murmured, smiling faintly. "Or maybe he limits himself too much." She hopped off her stool then, and patted her hand against his shoulder in a friendly manner. "It was nice meeting you, Doctor Banner. I hope I see you around the tower before I go." She walked off then, toward the door.

"And how long do you plan on being here?" he wondered after her, shifting to peer at her from the corner of his eyes.

"I wasn't planning on staying, but I think I'll be here a few more days. If you need anything, I'm staying at Natasha's."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and raised a hand in a vague wave as she reached for the door handle.

He had a lot to think about, she knew.

Making her way down the hall once more, she cast an eye toward the lab that had drawn her in earlier, but it was empty now. She felt an absence of that energy that had been buzzing around the brunette, and hoped she'd wandered off to get some sleep.

Darcy continued down the hall then, asking JARVIS where she might find something to eat since she was pretty sure Natasha had locked her out of the apartment until she'd spent an appropriate amount of time 'socializing.' Though, she was pretty sure when Natasha told her to get out and do something, she hadn't expected her to visit Banner.  _Oh well_. She should have been more specific.

* * *

**…**

* * *

[Darcy's](https://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_4b/set?id=173164597) heels clicked on the floor, the door closing faintly in the distance. She reached for her earring, a vivid blue collection of feathers, and tossed it to the end table. Her mouth ticked up at the corner; it would get picked up later and added to her pile of  _things_. Things she discarded at random, interrupting their structured little set-up, demanding a little mess, a lived-in quality. It wasn't long before she felt him against her back, the heat of him whispering over her skin, the solid press of his body, steady and firm. His hands found her hips; cool metal on her left, warm flesh on her right. He slid the metal one down her leg and started pulling her skirt up, bunching the fabric in his palm. His mouth smoothed over the nape of her neck, his chin settling in the crook as he pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder.

His palm slid up over her stomach, bare and taught, clenching at the sensation of his fingers. He pulled her impossibly closer, spreading his fingers down, tucked under the waist of her skirt. He walked her forward then, just a few steps, until her knees bumped the arm chair, and then he was turning her so she was facing him. Her breath stuttered out of her as she met his eyes, dark blue and heavy-lidded. She inhaled deeply, biting down on her lip as she reached up and let her fingers play over the curve of his mouth. He licked them, tongue skimming her fingertips, and she felt a hitch in her chest.

His hand was under her skirt, rubbing circles over her thigh. She slid her free hand up and skimmed her fingers through his hair, pushing it back so it wasn't covering his face as much. It would fall again, she knew, shroud his expressions from sight when he needed space. But for now, he let her push it away, let her open him up, let her  _see_ him.

His thumb hooked in the edge of her underwear and tugged it down a few inches. He ducked down to kiss her then, taking her bottom lip between his, teeth scraping, followed by the swipe of his tongue. He was working her underwear down her thighs and her skirt up her hips before he pressed his chest against hers and she dropped backwards, into the arm chair. He grinned at the huff she gave, leaning over her to pop another kiss to her lips before he was kneeling on the floor, hands wrapped around her calves and dragging her to the edge of the seat. He slid her shoes off and tossed them out of the way, careless of where they landed, and dragged her underwear the rest of the way off, tossing it too.

His fingers slid up her legs, kneading and massaging as they went, starting at her ankles and working their way up. Her heels balanced on the tops of his thighs while she watched him, his gaze intense and focused. As he reached her knees, he parted them, sliding each leg over his shoulders. And then his mouth was smoothing down her inner thigh, the scrape of his stubble making her shiver, her toes curling at the sensation. Bucky liked to tease. She was well aware of this fact. His favorite part of sex was the foreplay; working her or Steve up into a frenzy, keeping them on that edge, and waiting for the moment where they weren't sure they could take anymore before he finally let release break over them. Most of the time, she liked that. She could spend hours in bed with him and forget everything else in favor of letting him set the pace and pushing herself to her limits. Today, she didn't want slow and searching, she wanted hard and fast. She sunk her fingers into his hair and gave it a tug, biting down on her lip, and he looked up at her, blue fire in his eyes. He nipped at her inner thigh, and took the hint.

Bucky had a talented mouth; he could take Steve a part in a few minutes, and she knew, first hand, that Steve could last for hours if he wanted to. When Bucky set his mind to something though, there was no escaping it. So when he put his whole focus into making one of them come, there was nothing more to do but enjoy the ride. And he made it a good one. His tongue was tentative at first, unrushed, testing out how ready she was, what she wanted, what wasn't doing anything for her. Until he found his groove, and then her fingers were digging into the arms of the chair, her knees shaking as his tongue took her apart, lips folding around her clit to work her up before he wandered away again. He sunk a hand in under his chin, his thumb rubbing circles, but never quite sliding inside. His free hand smoothed up her front, sliding under her top and dragging one side of her bra down and out of the way so he could tease her nipple to attention.

Darcy groaned, her hips arching up against him. He grinned against her, teasing his tongue around her clit, flicking at it before he sucked kisses along her thighs.

"Buck _-y_ ," she whined, pressing her heel down against his back.

Chuckling lightly, he nipped at her thigh, and then he was on her again, sinking one finger inside her and curling it up.

She slid her hand down his metal forearm, gripping tight to it as she felt the building tension, waves of pleasure coming and going but not quite hitting their crescendo. Her body squirmed, desperate to find that edge. "Mmm," she whined, setting her eyes on him. "I'm gonna ride you so good after this, sink myself down in your lap. Won't even take your pants off, just push them down your thighs, just enough to get my hand around you. Are you hard, Bucky? Hm?" He slid a second finger inside her and the stretch was  _beautiful_. Her chest arched up, thighs spasming, and she lost herself for a moment, focused completely on his tongue and teeth gently teasing over her clit. "God, yes… Gonna fuck you here, on your knees, and then I'm going to drag you back to bed, strip you down, spends hours just  _touching_ you, every part of you, until you're begging me to let you co—"

Her orgasm crashed over her abruptly, her words cascading away in a cry. She could feel her whole body tightening up before it fell, trembling and shaking, adrenaline and pleasure pumping through her. It was almost too much, her eyes burning with tears, and she panted, twisting her hips. He was kissing her thighs again, his mouth and chin wet with her, his fingers sliding down over her front, rubbing soothing circles over her stomach.

It took her a couple minutes, to catch her breath and open her eyes, to get the strength back in her limbs. But then she was unhooking her legs from his shoulders, dropping her feet to the floor, and sitting up. She didn't remove her skirt, but she did skim out of her shirt and bra, dropping them to the chair behind her, and then she was sinking down into the space between him and the chair. Her mouth fit over his, the taste of her still warm on his tongue. Her hands slid over his thighs, rock hard and flexing at her touch, and she reached for the button and zipper on his jeans, pushing them apart before she dragged her knuckles over his stomach. He huffed out a breath, reaching up to bury a hand in her hair, tying it around his fingers as he pulled her head back and buried his mouth at her neck, biting and sucking at her pulse.

Darcy sunk one hand down and wrapped it around his cock, dragging it out from the confines of his pants to give it one long, squeezing pump. His mouth stuttered against her neck, breath panting, and she smiled. He nuzzled against her, face buried in her shoulders, and pushed himself up into her hand, groaning long and deep. She rubbed her hand down the nape of his neck, hooking her fingers in the back of his shirt. He worked himself against her palm, her thumb rubbing circles over the crown of his cock, fingers twisting and squeezing around him at random.

There was a basket under the end table, full of Steve's drawing supplies and her knitting tools, and there, mixed in with it all, were a few condoms. They'd learned their lesson and kept stashes everywhere in reach. She grabbed one out and tore it open with her teeth before she worked it down his shaft. His mouth moved across her chest, leaving sucking, biting kisses atop her breasts, when she levered herself up with the chair behind her and sunk down on him.

Breath leaving him in a rush, he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and cupped his other hand under her ass, squeezing and kneading as she flexed around him. "Fuck, Darcy…"

"That's the plan," she murmured, smiling as he huffed out a laugh.

Giving her waist a squeeze, he leaned his head back to look at her, his expression soft.

She reached for him, fingers gently grazing his cheeks as she tucked his hair back from his eyes, and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mouth, her forehead resting against his. Nipping at his lips, she asked, "Ready?"

He hummed, an eyebrow raised. "Are you?"

"I—" She paused, her brow furrowed, and blinked.

"Darce?"

She stared into his eyes, a bright, crystal blue now.

He frowned. "You okay?"

She shook her head faintly, but before he could say anything, she pressed her lips to his, her arm wrapped tight around his neck. His hand skimmed her back, rubbing gently. And when next she opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch in Natasha's apartment, her eyes still stinging.

Maybe a mid-afternoon nap wasn't the best idea…

With a sigh, she rolled herself off the couch and walked toward the bathroom for a shower. A  _cold_ shower. And then, she resolved she would find Steve, and ask him to join her for a makeshift dinner, and a bottle of wine.

* * *

**…**

* * *

[Darcy](https://www.polyvore.com/fortune_darcy_4a/set?id=173012050) psyched herself up for it twice, but eventually found herself standing in front of Steve and Bucky's apartment door. She had her fist raised and ready to knock before chickening out and walking toward the elevator. Halfway there, she stomped her foot and made her way back to the door. She had her hands on her hip and her toes tapping at the floor when the door finally swung open and Steve was standing in front of her, looking more than a little amused and mildly impatient.

"You could hear me," she said flatly.

His mouth quirked faintly at the corner.

"You weren't being subtle," Bucky said from where he was sitting shirtless on the counter in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. She was completely sure that when a little milk dribbled down his bare chest, he'd done it on purpose. His grin when she dragged her eyes away from the milk trail was proof of that.

Clearing her throat, she looked to Steve. "How do you feel about red wine?"

He blinked at her. "Uh… I prefer it to white."

"Good." She nodded. "Because that's all I have. And this is me asking you if you want to share it with me… On the roof… Where we can have a bizarrely open conversation about…  _things_."

Steve stared at her a beat. "Yeah. I, uh, I'd like that."

"Great. Then…" She threw a hand out, gesturing down the hall. "Let's go."

His eyes widened. "Can I… Can I change?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "If you give me much more time to think about this I'll probably change my mind and hide in the air ducts or something."

Steve snorted. "Okay. Now it is." He looked back at Bucky, who hid a grin behind his spoon. "You know where to find us if you need us."

Bucky's brows hiked. "I do."

Clearing his throat, Steve stepped through the door, closing it behind him, and looked to Darcy. "So… Let's do this."

Her mouth quirked. "You sound like you're going into battle."

His mouth twitched. "Am I?"

A full-fledged grin formed on Darcy's mouth as she started toward the elevator. Pivoting on her heel, she walked backwards, telling him, "I'll be gentle."

He smothered a smile and followed her. "Don't hold back for my benefit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can all thank [hellssamaritan](http://www.hellssamaritan.tumblr.com) for this incredibly late update. she asked for something in this 'verse as a prompt fill to thank her and i had about 6k of this written and waiting, so i edited it and here we are. :) 
> 
> thanks for reading, please leave a review!  
> \- **Lee | Fina**


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